


Sine Tactu

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [29]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Homophobic Language, Internalized body issues, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Massage, Mild Internalized Homophobia, Mirror Sex, Moving In Together, Muscle Worship, Nipple Orgasm, Nipple Play, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Worth Issues, mild dysmorphic tendencies, period-typical mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 17:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: “Want me to help with this?” Steve says quietly, head about level with James’ stomach as he stares up at him, fingers reaching up for James’ fly, but James shakes his head.“No,” he says, wets his lips - Steve is all skin and muscle and he’s totally naked and he’s right here and- “no, I’m.” He swallows hard. “I’m not getting naked. This is about you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **The Homophobic Language tag is for Steve talking about how homosexuality was viewed in the 30s/40s, and is a brief mention with only a few examples.**

On Sunday morning, James is awake when Steve gets up to start getting ready for church. He watches Steve wander around, watches Steve brush his hair, shave, brush his teeth, dress -

Steve brings him coffee in the middle of it an apologizes for not having made popcorn (ha ha) and asks him if he’d take an apology back in Brooklyn by way of making it up to him.

But the thing is, James thinks, the thing is that the plan is to go to the conversion when Steve gets back. Actually, the plan is for James to meet Steve _at_ the conversion, because he can do that now! But, instead of yes, James finds himself saying,

“Can we meet at mine?”

And Steve looks at him, head cocked.

“Sure,” he says. “You wanna stay there?”

And James shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I think…if it’s alright with you, I’d…like to pick some stuff up.”

Every once in a while, James does something that makes Steve look positively delighted. This is one of those times. His eyebrows raise and his eyes widen just a little, his mouth open on a smile that looks like he can’t really believe what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah?” he says, quiet, happy like.

He does that whole surprised-but-still-hopeful thing _very_ prettily, that’s for sure.

James nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like it…it doesn’t have to be everything, obviously. We can. Uh. Do, like. Pieces.” Articulate as ever. “Y’know.”

“Yeah, in increments,” Steve says, yeah, that was the word. “If you- I mean, sure! Sure, that’s…” he tapers off, that look still on his face, and then he laughs softly, shakes his head as he looks away. Is he _flustered?_ “That sounds great,” he says eventually. “That’s…” he looks at James again, eyes sparkling. “I’d love to.”

James can feel how widely he’s grinning.

“Great!” he says, and then he’s laughing. “Great.”

“And I was thinking,” Steve says, matter-of-fact, “if you wanted to keep the place? Like just for. Y’know. So that you’ve got somewhere if you need space, that’s fine.”

James blinks at him. That would be really nice, actually, although he really loathes the idea that he might someday need an escape route or a, a break or something. But he does have a lot of stuff, and he does love his apartment - he really does. Even if he hasn’t been back there in like _a while._

And if he’s still got the apartment, Becca can use it if she needs to and like…won’t accidentally catch him jerking off or getting out of the shower. Which totally hasn’t ever happened.

That she knows of.

But then Steve does that thing, that thing that he always does, and sideswipes James with the kind of generosity that is also kind of weirdly too much at any given moment.

“And I can pay rent for it, obviously, I’ll just talk to your landlady - or you can talk to her for me - and I can-”

“What?” James says, and he shakes his head. “But-”

“James,” Steve says, and he cheats - he reaches out and takes James’ hand in his own. “Sweetheart. I have more money than I know what to do with. Plenty goes to good causes, and it’s my fault you’re not spending any time there anyway. Right?”

James blinks. That’s. Sort of right?

“Kinda?” he says.

“So lemme pick up the slack, huh? I can afford it, and it’d be a weight off your bank account. No?”

“I,” James says, tilting his head. “Yeah?”

Steve grins.

“Good,” he says. “You can buy me a coffee on the way there or somethin’,” and then he leans forward and kisses James on the cheek. “I gotta go, doll,” he says. “Jarvis’ll get you a car if you wanna head over, if not he’ll let me know and I’ll come getcha.”

And then he stands, and then he leaves, and James is sitting in the bed halfway wondering what just happened, and halfway excited that he’s…

He’s really moving in with Steve.

He shakes his head, grin stretching his mouth wide, and he covers his face with his hands and flops back into the pillows with a laugh.

***

James waits for Steve.

Okay, okay, part of it’s laziness, but part of it’s the idea that he wants to get there _with_ Steve. He wants for them to do this together. And so Steve shows up with storage boxes, they get a cab there, and Steve says,

“The moving guy’s’ll get there at three or four,” all casual like.

Tower guys, Steve assures him, not just any old removals. Steve also assures him they can take James’ stuff out the back of the building if that’s all right, and then they don’t risk pictures getting snapped of them on the sidewalk. Not that it’d be the worst thing - James is meant to be his PA after all. Still though, better safe than sorry.

And so he packs his most beloved fake succulents from the kitchen, though he leaves some of the more independent ones where they are. Carrie and Jeri will be totally fine, he’s got no worries for Mal or Jack. He’s bringing Ethan though, and there’s no way he’s bringing Ethan without bringing John. Jodie can handle herself but he doesn’t want to leave her, and Scully’s like the least worry-aboutable so she and Mulder can stay where they are and keep Lea company (whom James doesn’t need to bring as long as he’s got Ethan).

“Sci-fi,” Steve says. “Right? Those two are the X-Files?”

“Some,” James says, packing Radar carefully in newspaper while Scott hangs out on the shelf. “They’re just like. Actors and characters I like. Except the spider-plant, she’s named after my grams.”

Steve nods.

“You bringin’ her?”

“Pft, no, she can handle herself.”

There’s a cascade of ivy as well, maybe two feet long and joined at the top of their plastic stems. That doesn’t have a name, obviously - it’s just a fake plant. Steve gives him a funny look when he says so.

Steve packs James’ favorite books - it’s easy to do, they’re all on a certain set of shelves - and then he goes around the pictures on the walls, too. Describing them as he goes lets James know which are which, and James yes-please and no-thankses his way through those before he starts rolling up some of his throws and rugs, and piling up pillows.

“Can I put lights up when I’m at yours?”

Steve gives him a funny look.

“You can put lights up at our place,” he says, and James nods, waves a hand. Right.

“These ones?”

And Steve stands up straight and plants his hands on his hips, looking around. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, it’s up to you. If you wanna buy different ones for our place, we can look at those later? Or we can use your ones, I don’t mind.”

In the end, James takes his little humidifier and a string of warm whites, and the little length of lights that look like succulents. 

“They got names?” Steve asks, presumably joking.

“Pleiades,” James answers without thinking, and Steve’s eyebrows are raised when he turns back, his smile impressed.

“Nice,” he says.

James considers leaving his Thai silk wall hanging, because the whole room’ll look weird without it, but he’s not sure he can survive unless it’s around, and so he takes it down.

“Remember you’re gettin’ a room at the conversion, too,” Steve says, “for if you need a night away but you don’t wanna be far. You know? Or if one of us gets sick.”

It’s…alright, it’s good of him to put it that way. Neither of them are saying what he really means - so far they’ve only had one argument, about a cup of tea, when Steve was loopy from being shot a bunch. But still, it’s a good idea to have a space James can go to, he supposes. After all, illness isn’t going to do jack shit to either of them - if James is sick it won’t affect Steve, and if something’s strong enough to affect Steve, he’ll be in quarantine, not his own bed. But it’s a good idea to keep a separate space, James has always cherished one. So James nods.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m…should I grab some bedclothes?”

“If you got favorites,” Steve says. “Otherwise we can have a look for that too!”

He looks excited, actually - pumped to be thinking about shopping for crap online, it’s adorable. There’s an IKEA like two miles from Ste-

From the conversion. _Their_ conversion. And like obviously, okay, James’ name probably won’t be going on the deed any time soon, Jesus, but it’s…It’s going to be home. 

God, he’s moving in with Steve.

“Y’okay?” Steve says, and James chuckles.

“Yeah!” he says. 

~

There’s a lot of stuff that can stay where it is. He puts toiletries in the cupboard, and the dry food will stay in the cupboard.

Steve cleans out the fridge, thank fuck - James doesn’t want to think about what it looks like now - and then the garbage can go out and _then_…

Then the truck is downstairs, and Steve starts ferrying everything down.

James is only taking one of his pans and one of his spatulas (his favorites) and he’s got boxes of books and fake plants and pictures and little bits and pieces that he loves. A bobblehead from college, a little figurine from a board game, some candles, a 3D puzzle, the photos he really cares about from his walls. Shit like that. One or two of his plush toys from when he was a kid - no he doesn’t still need to sleep with them, but sometimes seeing Milk Bear just sets his mind at ease okay?

He grabs some clothes and some jewelry, too, takes stock of his makeup and grabs a few ‘essentials’ that aren’t essentials (he could do without them but he can’t look fabulous without them. He mentions this to Steve and Steve wholeheartedly disagrees).

He even packs some of his sex toys, plucks a few magnets from the refrigerator on his next pass in the kitchen. 

“Do you have an immersion blender?” James asks, and Steve cocks his head.

“No,” he says. “I used to but it broke and I haven’t replaced it yet.”

James beams, and packs his instead. 

~

After that, it’s furniture. Obviously, James isn’t taking his bed, his couch. That wouldn’t make sense even if they fit - if Becca might use this place, or if James might come back sometimes, then why on earth would he leave the place devoid of furniture? But he’ll take a stool from the kitchen, a short cupboard from his bedroom. 

“The desk?” Steve says, but James shakes his head.

“Nah, Becca might need to work,” he says, and Steve nods slowly.

“Ahh,” he says. 

James will take the clothes-rack, though. And the short chair from his room, and some of the fabric from his canopy. Just one piece. He takes a couple of his little lamps, his ProDome, and then he goes back out into the living room.

The pile of things is dwindling, as is the daylight outside. 

“Sure you don’t wanna take the fridge?” Steve’s voice asks, not even a little strained.

"I," James says, and Steve walks past him with James' dumbass old armchair clutched to his chest like an oversized teddybear, sleeves rolled up, smile bright as the sun.

"Yeah?" he says as he passes, and James just shakes his head, mouth hanging open.

"Wh-" he says. "Where are you even gonna put that?"

_"We're_ gonna put it somewhere nice - I can move the one in the reading section, or the one in the TV section or-"

"Steve," James says, "you don't have to move your shit for my shit, that's-"

"Our shit for our shit," Steve sing-songs at him, leaning sideways with an actual armchair in his actual arms to snag a kiss off James before he heads for the door. "Uh, although, I'm not trying to say your armchair is my armch- you know what? You know what I mean. No on the fridge?"

“No on the fridge,” James says.

Steve already has a fridge.

Steve nods, and leaves with the chair.

Which.

Okay. The room seems really big without it, and James suddenly sees how much wallpaper there is when there aren’t any pictures to cover it, how big the bookshelves are when they’re empty. The couch looks cold without the throw on it, the kitchen looks bare without the fake plants.

When Steve comes back he claps his hands together and points at the coffee table. Doc and Marty are sitting innocuously in the middle, and need a good dusting, really.

"This next?" he says, and crosses the room in big strides.

"What, the plant?"

"Yeah, table goes by the couch in the TV section, plant goes on the table - am I takin' the table next, babe?"

"I," James says. "Sorry, I just….you're…"

Steve's smile fades into concern, James sees it. 

"Hey," he says, taking fast steps towards him, "hey, hey, honey," he slides his hands onto James' elbows, ducks his head to see them. "Hey."

James shakes his head, trying not to see all the gaps in here.

"I just don't- you're - like you're carrying everything," he says. 

"I'm makin' sure ain't nobody outside 'fore I put stuff down, baby," he says, "don't worry 'bout that, a'right?" 

Which is sweet as fuck and a huge weight off James' mind actually, oh. 

"Oh," But also," yeah but it's my stuff,” and then he realizes how terrible that sounds. God. “I-I mean, you're carrying it all…"

It sounds pathetic to his own ears, not even halfway to a good excuse. And knows Steve knows, too - Steve straightens up and draws a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh.

"Baby," he says, taking a step back so he can sit down on the arm of the couch and look _up_ at James instead. "I can run thirteen miles in half an hour, I can bench a chopper on a good day. And you know I can _dropkick_ a yellow cab if I gotta, honey, so what's got y'all tied up, 'uh?"

James tilts his head, looks at him, looks around the apartment.

"James," he says, and James looks at him. "If you changed your mind I ain't gonna be mad about it-"

"No!" James says, and then he passes his hand over his eyes. "No. No, it's just. I." He swallows hard, looks around. This is his place. _His_. He worked hard to earn the money for it, he lived a life to fill it with his things, and suddenly he knows - and once he knows, it’s obvious, and all-consuming. "I want to pay the rent on this," he says. "I always paid it, it's mine, you know? You're right, I want a place that I can go if I need to, but I." he wets his lips, hold out his hands. "I, I need it to be mine. Okay?"

Steve's expression is almost neutral but there's a little furrow between his eyebrows, his eyes are just a little narrow.

"Okay," he says, with a big, wide 'a' in it like he always does. 'Ah-kai.'

James loves him very much, and feels spectacularly like he's disappointing Steve.

"If you're paying the rent, then _you're_ paying the rent. You know? And I can go here but I'd still be…"

"Under my thumb," Steve says softly. "I get it."

"I-I just mean I, I always paid for it, it's my- It's _mine,_" and Steve lifts one hand and holds it up just a little. 

"It's okay," he says softly, shaking his head slowly like James is some skittish bank robber with his finger on the trigger. "I get it. This place means a lot to you and you want to keep it separate from anyone else in case one day you need to be separate from everyone else. 'S called a 'safe space,' I understand the concept, baby."

James is going to miss it, this little apartment. But it's not goodbye, right? It's not goodbye, not right now, not right now at least, not right now.

"Breathe, honey," Steve says, and James is mortified to find his eyes stinging. "Ah, sweetheart," and then Steve's getting up, nice and slow (he's huge and he just keeps on getting up for a long few seconds), and then he unfolds his big, long arms and wraps them around James. "I forget it ain't easy leavin' just 'cause you wanna be where you're gonna end up. You want a minute?"

"No," James says into Steve's shoulder. "That's worse, that'll really feel like I'm leaving."

Steve nods, one big, warm palm coming up to the back of James' head.

"Think of it as a vacation," Steve says, and he pulls back a little to look around the room. "We're just packing excessively for a vacation, and when you get there you keep extending the stay."

James frowns a little, looks around.

"But I want where we are to be home," he says.

Steve chuffs a laugh and presses his mouth to James' forehead, other hand on James' back now to keep him close.

"Ain't that already so?" he says. "Places is places, I got my home freakin' out 'n my arms, how 'bout you?"

James wets his lips.

"I can come back," he says, firmly, to convince himself.

"You're payin' rent on the place, ain't'cha?" Steve answers, voice soft as he takes his hand from the back of James' head and uses it to brush back the loose strands of hair from James' face instead. "So you'c'n come back whenever you please, ain't it?"

James nods a little, and then looks around.

"I'm," he says. "Gonna miss it."

"That's okay," Steve says. "And, if you want," and then he ducks his head to get closer, "if you want, we can stay here just as often as we stay the other places. Would you like that? Less of a move outta here and more of an 'I-come-over-yours-sometimes.' Yeah?"

James nods, thinking about it - that'd be nice actually, yeah.

"Yeah," he says. "Do…you want some stuff here?"

"Eh," Steve answers, and he looks around too and then smiles slyly. "Might leave a toothbrush, some underwear. Forget a sketchbook by accident, you know? That way I ain't all over your space if you need some time. Yeah?"

James nods more firmly now.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that works."

"Good," Steve says, and he kisses James' forehead again. "Now am I takin' this table or's it stayin' here?"

James looks at it, narrows his eyes.

"Not that one," he says. "The other one," and he nods at it. "Little one by the couch, that'd look nice in…"

"Go on," Steve says when he doesn't finish the thought.

"The reading room," he says. "Matches the bookshelf."

"So it do," Steve answers, and there's that hint of a smile again. "You got a better eye for it'n me."

"Pft!" James answers. "You're the artist."

"Potato potahto," he answers, and lets go. 

To pick up the table and the lamp even though he knows there are still papers in there. James rolls his eyes. 

"Showoff," he says.

"Honey, I just carried your armchair down two flights to a back alley," Steve answers. _"That_ was showin' off."

~

It doesn’t take long to load up the truck, and they know where they’re headed. 

Steve comes back up from the ground floor to come get him, and James runs his mental checklist as he makes sure he’s picked up everything he wants to pick up.

Leaving.

Although, he supposes, he's not actually leaving, that's. Well. It's more like Steve said - like a very, very long vacation or…or more like. 

Hm. 

It's more like keeping an elaborate, kind-of-obvious safety deposit box. 

"You okay?" Steve says at his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around James' waist from behind, presses his mouth to the back of James' head. 

"Mmm," James says, leaning back into him a little.

He puts his hands on Steve's wrists where they're crossed over his stomach, and looks around. It’s Sunday evening, and they’ve been busy all weekend.

“Yeah,” James says, and then he turns his head enough to look at Steve’s face as he smiles. “Let’s go home.”

***

The first thing Steve does when they get back is put the big pieces of furniture in certain places.

The stool and the chair go in one of the back rooms on the ground floor - Steve gives him a choice of two, and James picks the one with the en suite. Steve laughs.

“Good choice,” he says. 

He puts the armchair in the TV room after some discussion, and moves one of the ones from the suite into the area where the exercise equipment is. James protests, but Steve doesn’t let him.

“You wanna pay rent on that place, I wanna move my armchair,” he says, feigning haughtiness, and moves his chair.

The table thing does go really well in the reading area, and James is busy unwrapping his plants when he sees Steve pulling books off his bookcases.

“Wait!” he says. “You don’t have to do that!”

And Steve just _looks_ at him. James is torn for a moment, unsure, and Steve holds out the books to show him.

“Read ‘em seven years ago, five for this one, eleven for this. This one you don’t even read.”

_’SOE Syllabus,’ ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything,’_ and _‘Never surrender’_ respectively. And then a huge, squarish book titled _‘MY BUDDY.’_

James raises his eyebrow at the photo on the front of the last one - a black and white image of two naked men, standing with their backs to camera, but grinning over their shoulders directly into the lens.

“Okay,” James says. “But, uh. Maybe…don’t take down that last one?”

Steve laughs, and puts it back on the shelf. 

~

It takes them the rest of the evening, with a break for dinner. The books, the pictures, most of it finds a home in the living areas, although not all, and Steve stands in the middle of the floor and looks around.

“Your silk thing,” he says, and points. “I could move-”

“No,” James says, no hesitation. He’s pointing in the direction of his Vinegar Hill painting, and he turns after James speaks to look in another direction. “No.” James says again. “I don’t want you to move those things, that’s not what I want.”

The pictures were easily put out - there was plenty of room for them - and the fake succulents have gone on shelves and in various nooks and crannies. The warm white lights line one of the bookshelves, the Pleiades are on top of the kitchen cupboards, some of James’ other trinkets are around and about. But not the paintings. And certainly not what it looked like Steve might be thinking of moving.

“We can make it into a canopy,” James says, and Steve looks at him. “You know. Like…Find a way to put it up without damaging it. You know? I-If you meant it when-”

“I meant it,” Steve says. “I want a canopy.”

And so James nods.

“There, then,” he says. “That’s what we’ll do.”

After a long few moments, Steve nods too.

The last of James’ things that can get put out for now is his bobblehead. Steve takes it upstairs with them when they go to bed, and puts it on the bookshelf in the upstairs living room, next to the canteen, and the old green helmet.

“We’ll start looking for stuff tomorrow,” he says. “Like bedclothes and…all that other stuff.” And then he looks at James. “You feelin’ okay?”

James scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and nods, unable to hide his smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m pretty fuckin’ good.”

Steve gathers him close and kisses him softly, humming into his mouth before he pulls away.

“I want lights in here,” he says. “I want ‘em all over, I meant it.”

James nods, ecstatic.

“Sure,” he laughs. “Sure.”

And then the grin slides off Steve’s face as his gaze turns distant and, for a long moment, James worries something’s wrong. Until Steve speaks again.

“Fuck!” he says. “We never stopped for coffee!”

***

The week is busy for them both, that’s for sure. With it being the new year, all the annual briefing-stuff is happening, and James knew it would, sure, so Steve spent the beginning of this week at conferences and in briefings now that he’s not on duty, and there’ve been one or two media things as well. There’s an article online for Vanity Fair, the interview for which Steve attended in a long gray woolen coat and a beige scarf over a blue Henley and a pair of slacks. Is it just James or does Steve look to-die-for regardless of what he’s wearing?

James has been back at work, too, of course, so he’s had at least something to do while he’s been missing Steve. He, Amy and Connor got their level up notif - the ReCProSys is moving into its next stage, and James will be getting a new project soon. They’ll even be given a choice about what they pick! But it’s been a long half-week for both of them, filled with phonecalls and passings-in-the-night, with few distractions for James outside looking at lights and dreaming about the IKEA in Red Hook.

They actually had to spend two nights apart while Steve was at a military conference in Washington state, and then they got home at different times, and then they had to go out at different times. 

The end of the week brings Steve back home _(home!)_ at a reasonable time for the first time since Sunday, and James doesn’t even pretend he wants dinner first. They’re both back together now, and that’s what matters to James.

Now, with Steve laid out for him like this, happy and quiet on a Friday night like nobody they know fights monsters on the regular, this is what makes James happy, this is what James wants more than anything. Steve’s libido is wackier than James’, although James can keep up with him, and this was the plan they made via saucy texts pretty much three days ago.

Steve’s closer than James is, that’s for sure - James has been getting restless, Steve’s been near-enough climbing the walls. This whole things is primarily Steve's idea, to be perfectly honest, and James can see why. James is starting to feel why, too - Steve wants it slow and quiet. He wants it vanilla, simple, easy, and James is up for that, sure. 

So they make love like that instead, with Steve on his back at barely seven in the evening, because James wants to treat him to it, beautiful and strong and pale beneath him, his eyes half closed, his mouth fallen open, and James fucks him nice and slow, rocks his hips and holds Steve's gaze. Ropes and toys are all well and good (and they are _good_) but it's nice to go back to being with each other in the early evening, on a nice bed, in low light and soft sheets, without anything between them, and James puts his hands on Steve's massive chest and fits his hands to Steve's muscles and enjoys the slow slide of being inside him, the heat that gathers wherever their bodies meet. 

Steve's hands are big on the backs of his thighs but they don't move him, they don't direct. Steve just holds him and lies still, legs hitched up, with that little crease between his brows that tell James they made the right decision. 

"Hi," James says, breathless, as he grins.

He can't help it, he can't help smiling, and Steve, cradled by pillows and bedclothes says,

"Oh," very softly

They've been at it a while, too, taking their time. James could go hard and fast and push Steve into three separate orgasms, but it's nicer like this, this is better between them for now.

Steve is resolutely not in charge, and James is impressed by - and grateful for - how easily he relinquished the kind of control he's usually used to. Not that he's never done it before, of course, just that he's lying quietly, open and relaxed and entirely reliant on pillows to keep him where he is and having a good time doing it now.

It's lazy, the way James likes and the way they haven't been able to make time for since before Christmas, and it's nice to settle in for the long haul and move slow and easy and enjoy each other, especially considering how busy Steve’s been.

This is sweet, James likes this - there’s no rush, no desperate grappling. Just James kneeling where he is, and Steve lying quietly in front of him like this is what he was made for. His legs are open, too, over James’ where he kneels, not up around his waist - the entirety of Steve’s body language shows him to be relaxed. 

James gets his fingers around Steve’s dick just to watch his expression change, just to feel the way his fingers tighten, the way his legs squeeze inward just a little. Steve seems transfixed by him, but that’s just fine, James knows the feeling. 

He feels good - always feels good - but after five days apart, all this is like settling back into where he’s _meant_ to be, and he’s not just talking about Steve’s body. Although, _God…_

Steve wets his lips, watching James’ hand on his dick, brow furrowed, and he makes two little sounds, _ah, uhn,_, before James can’t resist him. He leans down, rocks Steve’s hips upward with it, and kisses him, his free hand planted in the middle of Steve’s chest because he knows Steve can take it. Spread out like this is how James wants him, but he’s got other ideas, too, something he’s happy to have the whole weekend for Steve to get used to.

Steve makes little noises into his mouth, too, and then James sits back on his heels and lets go of Steve’s dick to grasp his thighs instead. He’s not pulling Steve towards him, not really, but it’s another point of contact to keep, another way to be close to him.

Steve tilts his head back a little, baring his throat, though he’s still looking at James - James’ stomach, his chest, his eyes, his mouth, the place where their bodies meet - and he lifts one hand to run it over his chest, over his stomach. He wraps his fingers around his dick a moment later, and then his eyes slip shut for a moment, his head falls back sharply before he catches himself and looks at James again.

James can see how close he is, how red he’s gone over his neck and his forehead, watches the color bloom in the center of his chest, down his stomach; Steve’s body straightens - his head goes back a little, tendons taut in his neck as his legs pull in, and he looks at James down the length of his own body, through half-closed eyes, working his fist over his cock fast but barely moving, short little strokes that mean he doesn't even have to move his arms where they're tight down against his body. His free hand's set firm on his hip, and he watches the place that their bodies meet with the same kind of scrutiny he might reserve for studying a floorplan, his expression almost anxious, almost frustrated. He holds himself like that, stomach tight, limbs straight, body tense for maybe five seconds, and then - none of the usual noise or the usual warnings - he clenches down and his cock blurts a rope of come up his abs as his muscles flutter, as his lips part. There’s another a moment later, and then Steve's whole body relaxes as he keeps on going. 

James didn't know how far in Steve had hunched his shoulders until he sees Steve drop them, didn't realize how far up Steve was holding his head until he lets it fall back into the pillows, didn’t know how tense Steve’s whole body was until he lets go of the tension all of it at once. His ass pulses around James, hot and tight, but all the tension is gone out of him, his mouth fallen open instead of shut tight, his lips red and wet instead of pressed together in a line, his eyes closed and his brows up in the center though drawn together still - it's helpless, unfettered relief after the hard work of taking what James is giving, a boundless alleviation of a tension he was restraining himself from even showing, and he's gorgeous, James can't get over it. 

"Ohh," he sighs, head back, eyes closed, his body boneless, still coming in lines up his abs - James has counted five so far and hooks his hands over the tops of Steve's thighs again to hold him steady.

It looks like such a tremendous release for him, and James watches him, defenseless, powerless. He’s never seen a better example of bliss than the look on Steve’s face and the way he holds his body. Usually he tries a lot harder to participate, to lead, or at least meet James in the middle, but something about him today has left him sweet and pliant, and he sinks into the pleasure of it seemingly without a second thought.

“Yeah?” James says. “Yeah?”

Steve just moans softly, hand slowing on his dick though James doesn’t slow his pace. James chuckles, shakes his head, and Steve just keeps on making long, soft little noises while James fucks into him.

James isn’t _that_ far behind, of course, not with Steve laid out like this. Steve’s mouth bitten red, Steve’s stomach streaked with come, Steve’s throat and face flushed red with the exertion of orgasm, but Steve doesn’t seem together enough to do anything about it. Not that James needs him to, actually - it’s awfully sweet the way he looks too fucked out to pull James down, dick still held loosely in one hand, his other hand curled against his inner thigh.

“Oh, fuck,” James murmurs, and shoves his hips forward as he comes, spine curling forwards, eyes shut as his hips shove forward again.

It happens two or three times, orgasm making his movements harsh, and Steve just lies there with his eyes half-open, watching, breathing heavily enough that he’s still making those little sounds. 

James waits it out, the tail end of it pulling him forward with it, hard and deep, and then he lets himself fall forward just a little, hands moving from Steve’s thighs to the mattress either side of his waist. Steve’s looking at him, still not moving, just waiting, and James lifts his head, walks his hands up the mattress to lower himself down until he’s kissing Steve again, and Steve’s soft and quiet beneath him.

“Hmmm,” he says into James’ mouth.

They’re both breathing pretty heavily, but it’s Steve making the noise when they part, a noise on each exhalation, and he rolls his head to one side as he looks up at James, an invitation to bring him closer. James obliges, folds himself down on top of Steve - Steve can take him - and Steve huffs a laugh underneath him.

“Tha’w’s,” Steve says, and then he draws two long, deep breaths that he blows out through pursed lips, “uhn, tha’w’s great.”

James chuckles too, heart racing.

“Yeah,” he says. “It was pretty good.”

***

They talk about the decor when Steve starts cooking dinner (“you don’t have to cook, you’ve been away all week-” “You did literally all of the work this afternoon, honey, lemme make you your pasta, okay?”) , because Steve starts out by asking about little warm white fairy lights.

Right now it’s not so much of a priority ‘cause Steve hasn’t taken his Christmas shit down yet, but that just means they’ve got time for deliveries to arrive. 

“I thought maybe strip lights, too,” Steve says. “Under the stairs. I wanna put shelving under there for more storage. We can move some stuff around, make it like a focal point. You know?”

And James considers that. 

“As long as it’s not just my stuff,” he says. “Like I…I don’t want you to have to move all your stuff for my stuff.”

“Our stuff for ours, baby,” Steve answers without looking up from the pan. “You know these lights, the app ones?”

James looks around. The place is like a winter wonderland currently - yes, he knows these lights.

“Ahuh,” he says. 

“Well you can get ‘em easy, which means I can get more easy, and that way you and I could both have the app. That sound good to you?”

James blinks.

“Yeah?” he says, and _then_ Steve turns.

“But?” he says, and James shrugs a little.

“I dunno,” he says, “there’s somethin’ nice about the little battery ones, too, you know? Just…like you don’t even know they’re there until somebody shows you. You know?”

Steve nods, wipes his hands on a dishcloth.

“Sounds good,” he says. “Got a preference or can we have both?”

James looks around, shakes his head.

“I,” he says, and looks around a little more. “Nope, no preference.”

“Good,” Steve says, and he claps his hands together and then walks over to James. “I’ll get the laptop out later, we can have a look online.”

James finds himself smiling too, Steve’s enthusiasm is contagious.

“I mean it,” Steve says. “Anything you want, honey, I got you.”

“Aw, no, I-”

“Your sugar _what?”_ Steve says, and James blushes despite himself, laughs as he covers his face with his hands.

Steve hugs him anyway. Then gets his teeth on James’ throat and makes gnawing noises.

James laughs and shoves at him but Steve just wiggles around with him.

“Won’t need dinner after this,” he growls, and James snorts.

“Oh my God.”

~

They curl up on the couch together after they eat, Steve with his arm around James, and they browse a few websites to look at pretty things they can put in _their place_. Steve buys him about five separate lamps he said were nice, and a bunch of battery lights in different designs from a couple of places. One’s a set of wicker stars, one’s tiny paper lanterns, one’s leaves. He gets a couple sets of the lights with the app, too, like he said he would.

They browse IKEA’s website, because Steve could go to IKEA, and James could go to IKEA. It’s even possible that Steve and his PA could go to IKEA. But the likelihood of either of them containing themselves enough to fool anyone after the first ten seconds? 

Yeah, no - website it is.

They look at furniture, though neither of them need any, at curtains and wall hangings, though the place already has plenty, and lights - novelty and otherwise. Steve buys him a desk and another lamp, and James is grinning like a mad thing by the time they’re done. 

“I really live here,” he says, looking around, and Steve nods, kisses his temple.

“About time,” he says softly.

There’s nothing else either of them want, or need, and half the fun came from looking at it all together, but Steve starts messing around shortly after that, trying to make James laugh, or trying to get him to groan at his jokes or squirm at questing fingers. Steve’s distracting him, and they’ll wind up in a fake tussle, and then they’ll wind up making out on the couch. Or the floor - James isn’t picky, and he’s absolutely fine with all of it.

And then Steve says,

“How about one of these, you want a…”

And James looks at the screen.

Steve is pointing at something that says _MÖJLIGHET_ and appears to be a whiteboard for children.

James looks at the side of Steve’s head. 

“If you can pronounce it right, I’ll blow you,” he says, and Steve laughs, looks at him, and then narrows his eyes at the word. 

“Well I know the first bit,” he says. “Myeor, like the first syllable of Mjolnir but without the…” but then he shakes his head. “No, maybe not. Hm.” Then he pulls out his cellphone and starts tapping away at something.

James’ mouth drops open.

“Hey!” he says, and Steve looks at him, all wide-eyed innocence.

“What?” he says. “I’m phoning a friend!”

James goes to grab the phone.

“No!” he says, but he’s smiling, smiles wider as Steve holds the phone away from him, pushes up against Steve to try and reach. “Hey, just ‘cause you’ve got a friend who speaks every language in the known universe-”

Steve shakes his head, stretches out further so James can’t get the phone.

“He _understands_ every lang-”

“That’s cheating,” James says, and he sits back next to Steve, and then holds out his hand palm up. “Cheating is automatic forefit,” he says, curls his fingers into his palm twice, _gimme_. “You’re disqualified.”

Steve looks at him, beaming, and then he nods slowly, makes a face that might mean ‘you win’ on anyone else but pretty clearly means ‘oh sure, I’ll bite,’ on Steve’s. He hands over his phone, slowly, eyes on James, and then slings his arm over the back of the couch, shutting the laptop with his other hand.

“Alright,” he says, shifting forward on the couch. “What a hardship this’ll be - you want me on my knees-”

James really, really does _but-_

“-or you just wanna lie back and-”

“No,” James says, and Steve freezes, probably because of the look on James’ face - even he can feel that he’s a little manic.

There’s something else. Something else he wants to try, and they haven’t really had the opportunity, James hasn’t known how to bring it up.

“You forfeit,” he says. “You’re disqualified, rules do not apply, deal’s off. Right? Charlie?”

And Steve settles again, interested but not cautious - good, that’s what James wants.

“Go on,” he says. “Charlie. I’m listening.”

“Okay,” James says. “So, I don’t want a blowjob.”

Steve raises one eyebrow. It’s a game, and he’s ready to play. So’s James.

“Oh?” Steve says, and James nods.

“Yeah, no, I wanna rub your nipples ‘til you come, and I wanna do it in front of a mirror so I can see everything.”

Steve blinks at him. He takes a long few seconds to say anything at all and, when he does, it’s just a noise.

“Uh,” he says, eyes gone wide (with a very nice flush over his cheekbones, actually). “That. Huh.”

James feels his boldness catch up to him a second later, and he feels himself blushing too.

“Uhm,” he says, and Steve shakes his head as his eyebrows go up, he leans back.

“I mean,” he says.

“You…Uh, it’s just you said you could,” James tells him. “A-And I wanna see-”

“I ca- I _can_, I just-” he laughs, clearly surprised. “Ha, I wasn’t. Okay, I just wasn’t expecting that. You want a _mirror?”_

“Yeah,” James says, because in for a penny. “Yeah, I want.” He has to clear his throat. “Okay, so the _plan_-”

“Oh there’s a plan?” 

Steve’s smirking.

“Shut up, yes there’s a plan,” James says, and he has to rub his hand over his face to stop smiling too hard to speak. “Stop it, yes. The plan. _Was.”_

Steve chuckles, and James covers his face with both hands, leaning into the back of the couch.

“Stop,” he says, but he’s laughing, and straightens his expression as best he can.

Steve’s smiling - bright red but smiling - that same affectionate little thing.

“I’m stoppin’,” he says, “go on, I’m stoppin’, what’s the plan, man? Man with a plan-”

“The _plan,”_ James says, “is. Was- _Is_. I wanna get you all laid out on the couch and then, like, I wanna get- Like you were, like, with me on the- You know when we were on the couch? And you were feeding me?”

Steve thinks for a moment.

“What…the. Service…thing, when I had you up against me, all’a that stuff?

“Yeah, like me behind you, like you were- You know, when-”

“Yeah, yeah, I…I can, okay, I can see that, right.”

“So like that, I get behind you, like that, and just…” he nods, a little. 

“Right,” Steve says. “Why a mirror? Huh, why not just sit in front of me-”

“I wanna see,” James says. “I wanna look at you all laid out like that. You know? I wanna look, I wanna. Remember what we look like. Like that. You know?”

Steve’s expression changes a little, he cocks his head.

“So you can see both of us,” he says. “Huh. Yeah, a’right, I can…” he nods. “Yeah.” And then he sighs, leans back a ways and looks at him. “Ye-eah, okay, a’right. Okay. So where d’you want me?”

“Do you,” he says, and he has to clear his throat when arousal makes it hard to get breath into his lungs. “You got massage oil?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches up.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, scrutinizing James. “Box in the upstairs closet, grab a couple towels, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

James races for it - takes the stairs two at a time and grabs towels from the bathroom before he goes for the oil, and then, when he comes back into the bedroom, there’s a noise like furniture scraping across the floor, so loud and so sudden that he jumps. He rushes to the rail to check Steve’s okay and…

Steve is actually moving the furniture, of course he is. James rolls his eyes at himself and goes back for the box in the closet.

Like the one in the apartment in the tower, things in the box aren’t their regular-use things. There’s lube in the nightstand, condoms, dams, one of the vibrators James likes. In the box is everything else, and he grabs everything he thinks he might want. He grabs nipple clamps, he grabs the massage oil, and he grabs a vibrator on a whim, too, before he rushes back, out of the bedroom, back out through the upstairs living area, and then back onto the stairs and-

Steve’s naked. Wow, okay - yeah, sure, James sees him naked all the time, Steve _gets_ naked all the time but he’s draped over the furniture like a fancy old painting - like a Michaelangelo, James has said it before. It’s one of those times when James is amazed that he gets to reach out and touch him.

“You stayin’ all day on the stairs, babe?” Steve says, but his skin is smooth and his eyes sparkle, and James can see as he starts to walk downstairs that Steve’s cock has started to fill. 

He’s not hard, not yet, but his dick is thicker where it’s nestled between his thighs (his thighs). God, it’s so gorgeous, James is almost disappointed he won’t be touching it for the foreseeable future. 

Steve’s moved the armchair from the TV area back off the rug that sections it off, in line with the two huge mirrors that form the doors to the garage, and then grabbed the huge pouf thing from the reading area to put in front of it to make like a…big…chaise longue or something. It means James can sit in the chair and Steve can lie across the chair and the pouf, and they’ll be crystal clear in the mirror. James goes over to him and then kind of just stands there with the stuff for a second or two. Then he puts it down on the floor next to the chaise amalgam, and stands up and looks down at Steve.

“Want me to help with this?” Steve says quietly, head about level with James’ stomach as he stares up at him, fingers reaching up for James’ fly, but James shakes his head.

“No,” he says, wets his lips - Steve is all skin and muscle and he’s totally naked and he’s right here and- “no, I’m.” He swallows hard. “I’m not getting naked. This is about you.”

Because he’s learned. He knows that he felt six times as naked when Steve was fully clothed as he does when they’re naked together, he knows he felt totally powerless when Steve told him he wasn’t in charge. James knows it’s psychological, but Steve’s a hell of a teacher. 

And Steve looks surprised, again. His eyebrows go up, and then a smile curls his lips.

“Okay,” he says, slow. ‘Ah kai.’ “You want me full lyin’ down?” 

James almost does. He looks Steve over but having him naked and knowing what the plan is…

James doesn’t understand people who are ‘thing-guys.’ Like leg guys? Ass men? He doesn’t get it. James is a look-at-my-gorgeous-fucking-boyfriend man, a my-mouth-waters-just-looking-at-you guy.

Then again, he does have a hell of a thing for Steve’s pecs. 

They’re _huge_, and they’re firm, and the skin is warm, and smooth, and his hands fit just right over them. When Steve lies on his back, they rise almost as far as his nose, if James lies next to him he can’t see over them. Steve’s pecs are two perfect swells of alabaster and his nipples aren’t prominent at all, not until the blood rushes to them. They’re barely noticable when they’re soft - they’re not small or large, they’re not especially unusually shaped. Still, James is very much into pecs, especially Steve’s, and Steve’s nipples are just so pretty. They look almost delicate - only the points are the same color as his lips. His skin’s so pale that his areolas are almost lilac, blue veins sitting so close beneath them.

James can’t tell anymore that one’s newer than the other, but Steve’s skin is like milk, and he shaved to wear the suit for that thing in Washington, so all James has to do is look.

“No,” James says. “You’re gonna sit up and I’m gonna get behind you and you’re gonna keep your hands down and do what I tell you. You don’t touch your dick, I don’t touch your dick, you sit there and take it until you come. Doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

Steve groans, but he’s smiling, and he leans back, away from James.

“A’right,” he says, nodding begrudgingly, “a’right, get up here then, huh?” 

James does, clambers onto the arranged furniture so that he can sit in the armchair part. Then he spreads his legs and holds out his hands.

“Okay,” he says. “Come on up here.”

Steve looks at him over his shoulder for a few moments, but then he does as he’s asked, pulling himself backward to get in between James’ legs. He settles low at first, so that his head’s back against James’ chest, but James shakes his head.

“Like this?” Steve says.

“No, higher,” James answers.

Without moving, because Steve is an absolute _dumbass_, he says,

_“Like this?”_ in a _higher voice_.

James laughs anyway.

“Sit up, get your head on my shoulder,” he says. “I wanna be able to kiss that mouth.”

“Oohoo, ‘that mouth’ huh?” Steve says softly, mostly to himself, but James can see in the mirror that he’s smiling. 

He pushes himself up, moves back a little more, and then he reaches down and picks up all the things James brought with him, passes them back over his shoulder.

“Oh,” James says. “Right.”

“You put that other towel like…around my shoulders?”

“Ah, yeahyeah, I see-”

And James does, puts the towel around Steve’s shoulders so that, when he lies back, it flops back and covers James’ torso and the arms of the armchair. So. Okay, so at least he doesn’t get oil all over the armchair, or his clothes. Neat. He also uses the opportunity to swing Steve’s tags around so they’re behind him instead of in front, so they won’t be in the way.

“I’ll have the other one too,” Steve says, and then does some impressive wiggling around until the other one’s underneath him. 

Because, oh.

“There,” Steve says, and leans back into him again.

James tries to think clearly - which isn’t easy but he thinks he’s doing a pretty bang-up job of it right now considering, thanks - and nods to himself. He’s confident. He’s got this. Totally.

“Okay so,” James says. “Uh, so. I mean, you, this is something you can do, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, settling himself so his back’s to James’ chest. “I haven’t tried it for ye- Oh no wait, I have, I tried it by myself a couple years ago but I got itchy and gave up and jerked off. Nat and Clint got me to do it once, though, like a power thing. I managed a couple times by myself just to see.”

“But I’m not gonna like…get you all worked up and then. I don’t know. Twist your nipples off or something?”

Steve laughs, head going back over James’ shoulder. His whole face is screwed up with it, eyes scrunched shut, big, wide grin.

“Ahah, no, nono, I can do it.” 

Plus they’d just grow back, right? Thanks, intrusive thoughts.

Steve turns his head back over James’ shoulder, tilts his head towards him, and James kisses him briefly.

“Right,” James says. “Okay.” 

“A’right,” Steve says. “How d’you want me?”

“Open your legs,” James answers, feeling his face heat instantly. “Can you get ‘em down either side?” 

Steve turns his head very slowly and looks at him, but then turns his head.

“Yeah,” he says, “I can, I can get my feet off the sides, anyhow. I mean, I could get my legs off but that’d be uncomfortable. Feet okay?”

“Yep,” James says, and then puts his mouth against Steve’s ear like Steve likes to do with him. “I just want your legs spread.”

Steve draws a deep breath, kinda suddenly actually, and then holds up his hands.

“And these?”

James scrapes his teeth over the shell of Steve’s ear, mouths at the patch of skin under it.

“I was thinkin you could put ‘em in your lap, y’know,” he wraps his arm around Steve and squeezes one of his pecs, “push these together for me-”

“God,” Steve scoffs. 

“Yeah, but then you’d just jerk off when you got ‘itchy,’ right?” James says, and Steve heaves a sigh. “So why don’t _you_ put _your_ hands on _my_ thighs, huh?”

“This seems awful familiar,” Steve says, and James gets Steve’s earlobe between his teeth - doesn’t bite, but tries to make it a warning.

“If it ain’t broke,” he says eventually, and then clears his throat. “So. Now. Uh, do as I tell you.”

~

Steve bites back a smile and does as he’s told, his hands on James’ thighs. His legs, though, that ain’t so easy.

“Uh,” he says, and looks down at his feet.

No, come on, it _is_ easy - all he has to do is. Not. Look at his reflection in the mirror. 

It’s weird - it’s not an aversion he usually has, he’s had sex in front of a mirror. _He and James_ have even had sex in front of a mirror. But he’s also never had to look at himself before. Or, at least, he’s never been the focus of the mirror stuff. You catch glimpses of yourself, too, of course you do but…

He tips his head back onto James’ shoulder and closes his eyes to do as he’s asked, hooks his ankles over the edges of the seat and breathes out, slowly. The air’s cooler on his skin now his legs are spread, the heat from between his legs dissipating now he’s exposed. There’s no denying that he’s not got a stitch on, not when there’s cold air on his balls, but this is like the shibari chair all over again, and he did that, he can do this. 

“Y’okay?” James says softly, warm against his ear, and Steve opens his eyes again and looks at the beams up by the ceiling.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, and he tries to relax a little. “I’m just not…uh. Not used to this, I’m okay.”

“You promise?” James says, and Steve breathes, he breathes. 

Being tied up on an office chair was easier than this but it’s still nothing he can’t handle. He turns his head for another kiss, and when he draws it out, James lets him.

James lets him make it soft and slow and languid, and Steve opens his mouth and lets James lead. He jolts when James strokes a hand over his chest, and then they’re both laughing into each others’ mouths.

“Sorry,” Steve chuckles, and James smiles, shakes his head.

“Hmm,” he says. “Don’t have to be sorry.”

It’s nice, actually, Steve knows he can relax. This isn’t a blue movie, it’s not a test or a medical exam - this is his partner. This is James. This is someone he can trust. He kisses James again, and it’s an indulgence, of course it is. It always feels like one, too - a brief kiss goodbye or hello is normal, natural, but a proper kiss, a kiss like this, and it’s always so easy to fall into. Of course they can stop, of course one or other of them can draw away, but the closeness, and the love in it, the pass of lips over his own, the way each one of them can either take control or acquiesce - Steve could kiss for hours. They’ve spent enough time on a few lazy afternoons to know that they’d be able to manage it, too, but this is hungrier, more consuming. James kisses him like the prelude they both know it is, and strokes his hand down Steve’s body again as he does it, a touch that’s as provocative as it is grounding. Steve can’t help arching up into it, it’s just something his body does to follow sensation, and James’ fingers pass over the ridges of muscle in his torso, fingertips scratching through the coarse hair on the curve of his lower stomach.

“So how’re we starting?” he says, when they break away, the place quiet enough that he can hear it, and James rolls his eyes. 

“Uh, with me in charge?” he says, and Steve laughs.

“Right,” he says. “I got it. Sorry. Am I callin’ you ‘sir’ or-”

“I’m callin’ you jackass, jackass,” James says, and Steve barks out a laugh he can’t help.

“A’right, a’right,” and some of the lingering worry dissipates. “A’right, I’ll be good.”

“Nah,” James says. “But that’s why I love you.”

Steve turns his head for another kiss at that, a brief one this time, and then settles himself on purpose. It’s something he learned how to do tactically but it serves him well in a lot of places, and he doesn’t snicker when he feels James fumbling around with something, when he hears the click of the cap of the bottle of massage oil, even though he can tell from the jostling that James is having a couple of issues opening the bottle when he’s got both arms around Steve’s arms and torso. Steve’s waist is narrow. His whole upper body? 

Yeah, not so much.

“Damn, you gotta be so ripped?” James mutters, and Steve snorts.

Massage oil is a weird sensation at the best of times - that’s why it’s in the box and not in the nightstand. He didn’t even buy the damned stuff as far as he remembers, it was something about a bundle deal of Wanda’s, back when her ankles swelled up with Billy. She found Jasmine less offensive than…he forgets what this is meant to be but it’s sweet and rich and earthy, some blend of sweet almond oil and spices. So she kept that and left this one for him at the time, as a thank you for all the foot massages Steve gave her. 

It isn’t warm, is the thing, not to start with. James doesn’t warm it in his hand so much as just hold it in his palm while he puts the bottle down, and then he gets it - thankfully not much, Steve severely overestimated what was needed the one time he tried to moisturize his hands, and ended up having to do the whole of both arms - over the skin of Steve’s chest pretty easily. Hands on his skin is enough at the best of times, Steve’s a supersoldier. Like an old clock ticking in an empty room, the depth of the way way his skin can feel things is easy to ignore unless there’s nothing else there to distract him. He’ll notice his seams while on a stakeout, he’ll be aware of the breeze from the air-con on a lazy summer afternoon, lying in the grass will prickle his back _through his shirt - _ it’s one of the reasons he’s so bereft without touch. _One_ of the reasons. 

So hands on skin is pretty much a good time as far as Steve’s concerned anyway, but oil? It’s weird and too much in equal measure - if Steve thinks about it hard enough, he can tell the difference between how James’ fingerprints feel when they’re dry and how they feel when they’re like this, somehow less ridged but more pronounced, as though Steve’s own skin doesn’t know what to do with the input.

It’s too quiet if he thinks about it, there’s too much immediately if he concentrates on it.

“Can I talk?” he says quietly, and James says,

“Mm,” and then, “sure,” so Steve says,

“Feels weird,” into James’ neck, lifting his head to press it closer because he doesn’t want to move away from James’ hands but, like this, it feels like the top layer of skin is all new.

James chuckles.

“Yeah,” he says, “but it makes it easier to do this though.”

And then he sweeps his palms down over Steve’s pecs and onto his abs and Steve-

Steve feels his face flame immediately even as arousal follows hot on its heels - he can feel all ten of James’ fingers, feel the lines on his palms, and James fits his hands to the contours of Steve’s body so that there’s no break, it’s all sensation. The oil slicks the way, too, makes the movement of his hands a glide instead of a brush, makes it feel as though James’ skin is sealed to his own. It’s not just that, though, it’s…

Okay so, he knows where this reaction comes from. It’s easy - the muscle he’s got is muscle he maintains but never had to develop. The body he has is attractive enough that he can see as much himself and, even though most of the time it feels like he belongs in it these days, there are times when he can picture it from another point of view and…

He knows what his body looks like, knows what James’ hands must look like on it but that, that idea, that image of oil on skin, and gentle fingers, it’s like a secret or something, like a fetish, perhaps. It’s nice, it’s so nice, he loves hands on his skin, loves James’ hands on his skin, and the slick slide of careful fingers is intoxicating but there’s part of his brain that’s hung up on a body like this being better than his, on this kind of touch being…

Not wrong, never wrong. Illicit, thrilling, sure, but it feels stupid on some level or, or more like it feels selfish. 

“God, I,” he says, and James isn’t even doing anything yet except spreading the oil around with gentle hands, barely-there movements of skin on skin, the oil trapping heat beneath it, warming him in strokes and swathes. “I should’a put music on.”

James hands smooth up from his stomach, over his pecs - ridiculous bulges of muscle whose breadth even _Steve_ can feel are unnecessary, God, why is he like this?

“Why?” James says, and Steve shakes his head just a little.

Because it still, even now, in this century, feels like someone will overhear, he realizes abruptly. It makes his face flame and his stomach twist, makes him feel as though someone’s gonna walk in and laugh at him.

Also, having music would make it easier to focus on something that isn’t all the things in his head. 

“So I don’t have to listen to my conscience,” he says, only half a joke, and James strokes his palms inward until they’re over Steve’s sternum, back outward as he fits his palms to Steve’s pecs. It feels _good_, and it raises goosebumps, provokes a shiver. Which of course means his nipples peak instantly. “Mmh,” he manages, and James presses his mouth to the side of his throat.

“Tell your conscience you’re doing me a favor,” James says, and settles the heels of his hands where Steve’s arms rest against his sides, so that his thumbs are free.

James passes the pads of his thumbs over his nipples, just a slow back and forth over stiff flesh. The touch is enough to mean Steve needs to open his mouth to breathe, and the sensation’s always been different like this, like wires threaded under his skin from one place to another. Some noises make the back of his neck ache, some pictures make his stomach tighten. And some touches draw a line all the way down his body, straight to his dick, that’s just how it is.

“Uhn,” he says quietly, mostly just a breath, and there, that makes it easier, a little, just letting himself feel it.

The next flush of arousal sweeps away some of the embarrassment or whatever it is, some of the discomfort, as James’ thumbs sweep over his nipples, up and down like neither of them have anything better to do with their time. He does want to do this, of course he does, but he’d forgotten how red it makes his face go, how tense it makes his shoulders. Still, it makes his cock begin to fill, too - not fast, that’d be too easy. Instead it’s a tingle of wakening flesh, one that feels full and hot though there’s barely any physical difference yet.

“Hmm,” James says, draws his hands back to use his fingertips instead, and Steve draws as deep a breath as he can manage when James starts to draw circles around his nipples, on the areolas, not-quite not-touching the little points. 

The flesh is rough, drawn tight, and Steve can feel James’ fingers catch on the ridges, on the little imperfections. He’s got nowhere to go like this, not that he plans on going anywhere, but, though James is smaller than Steve is, his presence is a comfort in itself. The warmth of his body, the way he’s made it so he can cradle Steve. Steve feels a little dumb, if he’s perfectly honest - someone small like James trying to do this for someone so unwieldy has to look like a joke, but James doesn’t seem to mind, and Steve doesn’t feel like looking for himself.

He tries not to think about any of it, tries to just _feel_ it instead, and finds it’s difficult to get a good breath in.

“U-Uh,” he says, and tips his head back, fights the urge to close his legs.

“Okay?” James says, and Steve feels himself frown, feels his mouth drop open.

“Uh,” he says again, but he has to wet his lips.

James’ touches are _barely there_, is the thing. Steve’s got massive hands, but James’ fingers are slender and he’s gentle and he strokes his fingertips along the soft, sensitive underside of Steve’s pecs (why, why isn’t there a better name, why in all the future’s infinite wisdom has it not come up with something less mortifying than that? It could be worse but still), and Steve curls his fingers over James’ knees. 

“Look at these, huh?” James says, and passes the tips of his fingers over Steve’s nipples.

Steve does because his brain is only half working, because the shock of pleasure makes his head come up, and doesn’t know how he feels about seeing it for himself, slick fingers over glistening, textured skin turned rosy with arousal.

“Mmh,” he says, although he doesn’t do it on purpose, and he doesn’t know which of James’ hands to watch. 

“Pretty little things,” James says, slow circles and gentle passes, and Steve’s ears get warm - it’s been a long time since anyone said anything along those lines to him, but his body hasn’t forgotten the twist of emotion it always elicits, hasn’t forgotten how it flips his stomach on the inside as his body wars with the desire to watch and the desire to look away.

“God, this is not what I’m used to,” he says, voice tight to his own ears, and James licks his pulse point, turns it into a scrape of teeth over the shell of Steve’s ear. 

“You can stop me anytime,” he says, and then keeps doing what he was doing - Steve sees him, Steve is _watching_ him - drawing circles and smoothing lines.

James pinches, once, lightly - barely even a pinch at all, he just squeezes the flesh lightly between his thumb and the side of his index finger, hands curled inward to reach. The hair stands up on the back of Steve’s neck, he says,

“Ah,” but his back arches anyway, chest rising on a breath he doesn’t mean to take.

It isn’t overwhelming, not yet, but it’s so-

He doesn’t know how to take this, doesn’t know how to be this passive. He can learn, he _wants_ to learn, if that’s what James wants. And he doesn’t want to stop but there’s part of him that’s anxious and he doesn’t know why.

“Uh,” he says, again, and then he lets go of James’ legs.

Not entirely, but just with his fingers before he gets a handle on it, and then he smooths his palms down James’ thighs to his knees instead. 

“Okay,” James says. “Here’s where I ask how you are.”

~

“Charlie,” Steve breathes, way more quickly than James was expecting, and he smiles.

He looks at Steve’s face in the mirror but Steve isn’t looking back at him - Steve’s frowning down at James’ fingers like they’re too hot on his skin or something, and so James just keeps passing his fingertips over Steve’s nipples while he gets a good look at what he and Steve look like in the mirror.

It is - just like he figured - an image he’s gonna have in his head for, like, ever. James was picturing those romance novel covers or something, like those old posters of hot dudes standing on rocks with the heroine at their feet. Thing is, the only part of Steve that’s oiled up is the part that James can reach, and so his torso shines with it, slick and wet, but the rest of him doesn’t. He’s shiny up to his collarbones, out to his shoulders, down to his abs, and then there are finger marks - _James’_ finger marks - blending the oil with Steve’s skin, lines that James’ hands have drawn on Steve.

“You okay with the clamps?”

“Ugh, God,” Steve mutters on a breath, and James frowns at him in the mirrored doors, even though Steve’s not looking at him, watches the sheen on him shift as he breathes hard.

“Need to slow down?” he says, and Steve shakes his head, shuts his eyes, lets his head fall back on James’ shoulder.

“No, no, I’m okay,” he says. “I’m okay.”

James looks at the underneath of Steve’s jaw in the mirror, then tilts his head so he can look at the side of Steve’s face in person.

“Okay,” he says, and brings his thumbs and index fingers up instead, and starts to roll Steve’s nipples between them.

And _that’s_ better, _that’s_ something Steve likes. All the tension goes out of him, his body goes lax and gets heavy against James, and his arms move, his hands slide down the outside of James’ knees, fingers curling at the back of them.

“Ohh,” he groans, a sound that’s rich and deep, and James watches in the mirror as Steve draws a huge, shuddering breath about it, too.

If James cranes his neck and looks down, he can just about see his own fingers working, tight as they are against Steve’s chest just for how broad Steve’s whole body is. He’s tough to reach all the way around like this, just from the sheer size of him, but James can see a flash of dark pink between the pads of his fingers, and feels all his blood rush downwards. 

It’s like seeing two different things at once like this, like seeing porn played out in front of him on a big screen, and getting to look down and watch his own hands drive Steve crazy at the same time. Like having his one of his favorite fantasies laid out for him to see (there’s very little he _can’t_ see when Steve’s spread out like this) and having his favorite person writhing in his arms.

Well, Steve’s not writhing yet, but James is pretty sure it won’t be long.

In the mirror, Steve’s legs are spread, his dick is half hard and waiting, his balls are soft and dark but not as soft as they were, and the lines of his musculature might as well be carved from marble. Where Steve’s nipples are usually so pale, so much the same as the rest of him, now they’re flushed and pink and, even though they’re small as they are, James tightens his fingers on them just a little and watches Steve’s dick lift a little more.

“You like that?” James says, well-aware of the answer, and Steve groans, long and low, hips rolling upward before they settle down again.

“Yeah,” he says, although it sounds like an effort to do so. “Yeah, I do.”

James wants to laugh - he’s delighted - but he’s sort of aware that it might be a bad idea. He thinks Steve’ll take it the right way, but he’s not willing to risk it, and so he kisses the side of Steve’s head instead. There’s nothing else that’s like this, and he knows how lucky he is to have it. 

“That work for you?” he presses, thumbs stroking slow but not-quite gentle, and Steve’s nipples are small and hard under his thumbs, Steve’s body is huge and hot between his legs - James gets hard in his trousers in like no time at all, and knowing he’s got a responsibility to Steve first is worse and better all at once.

He can hold back, sure. It’s not the first time he’s ignored a hard-on, and it makes his skin feel electrified to know, to _see_, that he can’t take care of himself for now because Steve’s his first priority. 

He doesn’t even roll his hips forward to try and get friction against the small of Steve’s back, how’s that for self-control?

“Yeah, you can keep doin’ that,” Steve mumbles, one hand coming up to wave vaguely before he puts it back down again. “Do whatcha want, but you’c’n keep doin’ that and I’ll…”

The rest is a sigh, and he goes relatively still again, head down, brow furrowed, looking at James’ hands but not at the mirror. _James_ looks at him in the mirror, at the way Steve seems completely immobilized just from this, transfixed by watching, and James gets it, James has been there. It’s difficult to look at yourself like this, makes it real in a way that’s blatant when you’re right there in front of yourself, instead of protected by the little bubble you make when it’s just the two of you.

“God, look at you,” James says, stops doing what he’s doing to cup Steve’s pecs in his hands instead, squeezing gently so that his fingers come up and his thumbs drag down over Steve’s nipples again. 

Steve goes tense as he does it, grunts softly in a way that James doesn’t often hear - arousal and frustration while he tries to hold his breath - and then Steve frowns, shakes his head a little as he shuts his eyes, tips his head back so his head rests against the side of James’ jaw. His hair’s dry and soft and James watches Steve’s face in the mirror, though Steve isn’t looking back at him. Steve’s eyes are barely open, his gaze off to one side, and his mouth is open just a little as his breaths come a little harder. 

He’s in control of himself for now, but it looks like it’s not as easy as it was a few minutes ago, and James considers it a challenge. Steve’s not even all the way hard yet, although he’s pretty nearly there, and James wonders what it’ll actually take. Of the things he’s brought with him, how many does Steve actually need? He should have asked before he started if there was some kind of secret formula, some sort of definite touch, or movement, or something, that Steve will particularly enjoy.

He rubs his fingertips along the underside of Steve’s pecs again, gentle enough that it’d tickle if Steve did it to him - Steve’s shoulderblades shift against James’ chest in response, and James isn’t sure but he thinks that maybe it’s ticklish for Steve, too. Then he goes back again, starts to knead and pull at delicate pink skin - Steve makes quiet little sounds as soon as he does, looking almost concerned when James looks at him in the mirror, like he’s not sure what’s happening, or didn’t expect it to work.

His breath hitches, and his body tenses up - it’s an automatic response, James does the same thing when he jerks off. Your body gears up for sex, works hard to reach orgasm, your muscles tense and your fingers curl, and that’s what Steve’s doing now.

James doesn’t pull far - he not trying to hurt Steve - but he pulls until he feels resistance, watches Steve’s mouth drop open further, watches his eyebrows turn up in the middle and his head come forward in jerky fits and starts.

_“Oh!”_ he says, shocked but quiet, and then again, soft, like a relief, “oh,” and his stomach is concaved with the effort of trying to keep his chest in roughly the right place for James’ hands.

It almost looks like he doesn’t know what to do, worried by the intensity of it, or something, and James sees the light catch somewhere new, just a small glisten of fluid at the tip of Steve’s dick as it comes up fully hard.

“Tha- Ah, oh,” Steve says, and shakes his head a little, but he keeps staring down at what James is doing, blowing out harsh breaths as James keeps tugging gently.

James keeps going, listens to the tick of his watch - he can hear it over Steve, still - counts two minutes, four, five, and Steve gives him stuttered gasps and twitching limbs, pushes back against him without meaning to before he’s arching away again. All James has to do is follow, follow the movements of his body and the pattern he’s set up for Steve. It’s easy. It’s _easy_ and he _loves_ that he’s the one who gets to see it. 

~

Minutes feel like hours as it starts to come up around him, time that ticks by slow and, though it’s never takes as long as Steve expects, he forgets that because it feels like it takes forever. He’d forgotten it this time, forgot it last time, it never takes as long as he-

“Oh,” he says again - he’s saying it a lot, having trouble keeping quiet.

He knows James likes to hear it but something about this always reminds him of Brooklyn, before the war, when you might walk in late one night and find a fella up to somethin’ on his lonesome, and then you’d just pretend you didn’t know.

It’s like that, is what it is - like being caught at something not quite the usual, like hiding your face in pillows or rolling over onto your other side so you don’t have to think about it. James is careful, James wants this and Steve wants it too but, as his dick comes up proper, he can see it right there between his legs, can see it past the length of his own torso. He can feel the low-level simmer of it, tiny increments of pleasure that are cumulative, sure, but easily disrupted. If James stops for too long, if James changes what he’s doing and it’s not something this nice, if Steve thinks the wrong thing or looks the wrong way, it’ll all come down about him.

It’s a carefully woven lattice, delicate and strong but still so easily swept away.

Part of him wants to give in, wants to ask James to get a hand around his dick and jerk him off. Part of him wants James to haul him around like he could have if he’d known Steve before, to rough him up and pin him down, but this is enough, this is so much more than enough. It’s hot in the tip of his dick and nestled, glowing, behind his pubic bone. It’s there, waiting, but it needs to be coaxed out and Steve’s eyes are gonna cross if James keeps up like this.

“Mph,” he says, ‘cause he ain’t beggin’, no sir, he don’t gotta beg.

To start with, he knows James’ll give it, but there’s still that thing at the back of his mind. It’s not a memory, not really, not a thing that happened, but what it is is out of his grasp for now, and he’s not going to get any closer to where he wants to be if he wastes his time thinking about how he looks with his shirt off these days, about how red his nipples are and how-

“Oh, God, it feels good,” he breathes, because it does, but it feels good like a sip of good cognac does, like a thick sweater. 

It feels good and it feels warm but it’s _slow_, it’s _gradual_ \- he’ll be there at some point in the future but now it’s so slow he’s going crazy with it, like some kinda idiot - but oh, oh to stay here for the rest of his life if he could, to just have this. If he could only learn not to think about it, not to be aware of the picture he makes, not to know what James is _doing_ to him, he’d be just fine. He doesn’t want to know anything except how good it feels, but he already knows way more than that, so he’ll settle for ignoring everything except sensation for as long as he can.

But as much as he doesn’t want to see, as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, there’s a huge part of his brain considering everything. It was easier to let James do what he wanted with the shibari, easier to play a role that afternoon after the EWS refresher, easier on every occasion he can think of than it is now to let James take charge now - Steve’s brain is running a mile a minute trying to figure out what’s going on and how to participate even though the whole point is that James does everything for him.

It’s kind of exhausting trying to figure out what on earth he thinks he’s doing. What on earth his _brain thinks_ he thinks he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t worry about it, knows he’s been in other situations where he _doesn’t_ worry about it but this? This is like, this is-

Okay, he can totally handle this. His security system is so top of the line it’s unique, his partner is enthusiastic and checks in with him, if there’s any issue at all it’s that Steve feels like he shouldn’t currently be living in his skin, which is _ridiculous_ and-

“Ah,” he says, his ears starting to ring.

James is doing so little, in the grand scheme of things, such small movements, to such a small pla-

James is barely doing _anything_ to him, and yet here he is climbing a pretty steep hill pretty fast. 

“I, I’m,” he says, because James is in charge, James is in control, but Steve hasn’t been told to- Input’s allowed, right? He’s allowed to ask James to just- “can you,” he says, “harder? Can you, harder?” and that doesn’t make much sense but it seems like it makes enough because James’ fingers press harder, leave less room when they come together.

It’s still not a pinch but that, there, that’s, yeah-

It does something, actually, like there’s something about it that pushes him down a little. There’s less noise in his head and more, oh, yeah, yeah, that feels like he’s picking up speed a little.

It’s a welcome change - this low level pleasure’s nice as foreplay but it’s maddening otherwise, and he wets his lips and tries to breathe, and then presses his hips down because he’s trying to thrust up even though there’s nothing there, and all that’ll do is make his thighs ache. 

It’s tough not to though - his spine’s already aching from trying to hold back, his cock feels somewhere between burning and stinging - itchy’s the right word, except for the heat it doesn’t account for. He wants to touch, wants to jerk off, patience waning, but he’s not doing this for himself, he’s doing it for James. The lack of stimulation’s a buzz under his skin, God he wants something in him, maybe he can convince James to fuck him after.

“Ya fuck me after?” he says, brain not even bothering to form a sentence at this point, okay, who cares, and James, who’s still kissing his neck and shoulder, fingers still working his nipples, says,

“Mhm,” because of course he does - it’s like trying to persuade Steve to eat too much. “’What a hardship.”

Steve laughs breathlessly, a little hysterically, and shakes his head, then he nods, then he arches his back and groans. 

It’s natural to him to try and keep quiet when they’re like this, to keep silent when one of them is - or both of them are - concentrating. _Delicate work,_ his mind mortifyingly supplies, but it’s true. This isn’t something that happens easily, that could happen anywhere. It’s working now because it’s James, because they’re safe, because he trusts Tony’s anti-surveillance tech more than he trusts that nobody’s trying to surveil them, but he’s slipping, keeping quiet is getting increasingly less possible.

Every time he thinks his dick can’t feel any hotter, every time he thinks it can’t sting any more-

He hisses through his teeth, hips curling upward anyway, and he lifts one hand to shake his fingers in his didck’s general direction.

“Ow,” he says, barely getting the word out - his ribcage feels too big - and James slows a little.

“Ow?”

“My _dick_,” he says, wincing, but he puts his hand back down soon enough.

He _wants_ to touch himself, but he won’t.

“Steve?” James says, and Steve shakes his head.

“I’m oh-” he says, “kay,” and then James is chuckling against his throat.

~

“How’s it going there?” James says, but he can see it’s going pretty well, thanks.

“Ugh _God,”_ Steve moans at him, drawing the sounds out more in frustration than anything else, and James looks at his expression in the mirror.

His body’s flushed from his face to his stomach, and the head of his dick is wet. This is what he looked like when he was dreaming, too - it probably won’t be that long, but he’s frowning like it hurts, looking like he’s helpless with it. 

“Oh,” he says shakily, brow furrowing again.

He looks down with his head turned, with his back arched and his limbs rigid, as though he’s gonna try and make a break for it. James knows that sensation well, and not just because he tries to sink himself into the chair every time he’s getting his teeth cleaned at the dentist - that feeling, trying to get away while you’re trying to keep your body closer, James and that feeling are old friends. Steve has a habit of doing it to him, making his whole body terrified of how much pleasure it’s getting while the last rational part of James’ brain tries to get him to keep his dick where it is so Steve can keep doing what he’s doing.

Well it’s James’ turn at it now, and Steve pushes against James’ thighs, head tipping back over James’ shoulder as his knees tilt inward, but he keeps his back arched all the same, holds his breath to keep his body where it is, to make sure James can reach. James doesn’t let up, keeps rolling Steve’s nipples between his fingertips and the pad of his thumb, and Steve’s hips twitch in time with it, as though the mere action of trying to fuck something will help him in the slightest. James can feel the same tremor in Steve’s fingers where they’re curled in the fabric of James’ jeans, where they clutch at the back of James’ knee, and James isn’t sure if it’s imagination or not but he thinks maybe Steve’s allowing it a little more - feeling it more and thinking about it less, maybe. 

He wants to get a hand on himself but he figures that’s hardly fair, it wouldn’t be kind to take away half of Steve’s enjoyment just to give himself what Steve can’t have. It’s easy to do this for him. It’s easy to do this _to_ him, and James _hopes_ it’s for him, to please him, to pleasure him. Steve sometimes says things about the things ‘James gives him’ or the things ‘James lets him do,’ and James worries Steve’s keeping score mostly because (even though it’s partially it’s the horror of being measured next to a man like Steve,) James isn’t in this for reciprocity, not when he can make Steve feel as good as he looks like he’s feeling.

James tries something else, on a whim - something he’s seen once, tried a few times, something that made a difference to him. James isn’t someone who can come like this, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t feel anything at all, and he knows what works for him.

When he lifts his hands away this time, Steve’s little sounds, Steve’s tension, it all eases back a little again. He’s not pressed quite so hard up against James, his breathing is fast and shallow but it’s not distressed, and he moans softly when James moves his hands back.

James smiles, can’t help it, happy he gets to do this, ecstatic that Steve’s enjoying it, and he waits for a few long seconds, hands hovering over Steve’s skin.

Waits.

Steve huffs a laugh, slips back against James just a little.

“C’mon,” he says, barely audibly - he’s not saying it to James, he just can’t keep it in his head - and James strokes Steve’s ribs for a moment or two, trails the backs of his fingers over the dip between Steve’s hipbones. “Aw, Go-” he breathes, but he cuts himself off again.

James curls his fingers inward so his hands are fists and then, carefully, he passes the backs of his knuckles over Steve’s nipples in one stroke.

Steve says,

“Ah-_hah_-” shoulders hunching inwards, and James can see from their reflection that his mouth has dropped open. 

When he brings his knuckles back again, Steve’s right shoulder comes forward but the other - and his head - drops back.

“Ohh,” he says, and he bunches up the fabric of James’ pants in his fingers as he shuts his eyes.

“Like that?” James asks, and Steve chews his lower lip like he’s trying to break skin, nods slowly because he’s working hard not to nod too fast. 

Steve makes little noises at him, just small things in the back of his throat that he’s letting loose while he keeps himself still, while he waits for what James is trying to give him. His mouth hangs open, his hips flex, the muscles in his thighs shift, and James takes all of him in from the canvas of the mirror in front of them.

It turns out this is sexy in a totally different way, of course. James was expecting Steve to do this, to show him genuine arousal and genuine enjoyment, but he wasn’t expecting - or, rather, it hadn’t occurred to him to think - that it would be the same thing over and over. Makes sense, course it does. If you’re blowing a guy you don’t stop to try a different angle when you’re right in the middle. If you’re fucking a guy, you don’t move him around just when things are getting good. This is almost, almost, easy. James just has to make the same movements, keep his pressure constant.

“Ohn,” Steve says, breathing funny.

He moves like he doesn’t know how to settle, like he can’t relax. It’s cute, and hot, and James rubs his knuckles over the two little points of flesh, barely a touch at all, and marvels at the breadth of Steve’s chest in the mirror as he tries to breathe, at the length of his legs as he tries to keep them down, pressing divots into the side of the pouf with his ankles just with how hard he’s forcing them against the sides of it.

“Oh- _ohn,_” and then he huffs a couple times and frowns, his whole face screwing up. “Mmh, mmhm, mh,” and James supposes that this counts as staying still, though Steve sounds halfway like he’s trying to speak.

He’s still in James’ arms, his ass is still on the couch, his legs are still either side of the pouf, his arms are still down on James’ thighs.

Really, though, he hasn’t stopped yet, not since James really got going. His muscles work even as he holds himself down, his fingers flex, his breathing is so uneven James would be worried in any other situation, and his shoulders twitch inward, like his knees, like the way his stomach tries to crunch, like the way his expression changes minutely all the time - a twitch in his brow, the way his mouth drops open, then open wider, before he hisses through his teeth, before he gasps helplessly.

“This better?”

“That’s,” Steve breathes, “just keep-”

James nods, listens to Steve breathing, watches Steve’s body shake with the effort of doing as he’s been told as he rubs his knuckles back and forth.

“Uhhn, don’t stop don’t stop,” he whispers, and James nods, wets his lips to make sure they don’t drag when he sucks Steve’s earlobe, and then ignores the throb of his heartbeat between his own legs in favor of tasting the one that flutters at Steve’s throat.

James has no plans to stop.

~

This would be so much easier without the mirror, Steve has the wherewithal to think, but it’s fleeting for the most part. The itch under his skin that’s halfway to do with need and halfway to do with being able to see himself out the corner of his eye is so strong it’s an effort not to curl forward and jerk himself off, but it always feels like this.

It’s his _nipples_, for God’s sake, how can he be so painfully turned on like _this_? But he is, there’s no denying it, no ignoring the sting in his cock or the burn in his thighs. He can feel the muscles ins his ass and the backs of his thighs trying to convince him to thrust upward, seeking a friction he’s not going to find, his body straining for something it thinks is just out of reach.

He doesn’t need the clamps, doesn’t need the vibrator - doesn’t even need the oil if he’s being truly honest with himself. This is being held on the edge of something, being made to balance on a razor. He’s so _close_ but it’s like needing another nickel to make the asking price, like tripping up three steps from the right floor, like trying for the top shelf and always, always being a half inch short - alone, he ain’t ever gonna get there.

But if James just keeps going, if Steve just doesn’t think about it - what he must look like, what James is _doing_ \- if James just doesn’t stop, oh, he can feel it. Feels like it’s been waiting under his skin for hours, feels like his blood’s burning, feels like his nerves are prickling.

It’s there in the cradle of his hips, there in the tendons in his thighs, there in the heat in two burning points on his chest, and there in the itch at the head of his cock where fluid’s gathering and rolling outward in thick, slow droplets.

“Mh, mph,” he says, stopping just short of begging, biting back a plea, hips shuddering forward while James’ knuckles push pleasure into him in a series of tiny little flashes of pleasure. 

Nothing else feels like this, like what James is doing now. Pinching and rolling and stroking is good, it’s so good. A vibrator’s a resonant hum in his veins, clamps are sharp and deep and hurt so sudden it’s good but this, oh this, this is halfway to torture and it sets Steve’s blood to burning inside of him.

James’ mouth is hot and wet and Steve likes necking at the best of times, the skin James mouths at sings in the wake of his tongue, his teeth, the place behind Steve’s ears was always sensitive, the softness of the skin over his pulse, but then James says,

"Man, just look at you huh?" and Steve’s thinking about it again, Steve’s aware of it where he’d blocked it out before. 

He’s splayed out naked in front of a mirror, right there in front of himself with nowhere to go, while James plays with his-

“I,” he gasps, turns his face into James’ neck and swallows hard, “would really rather not,” and his breath hitches and his stomach tenses with each pass of James’ knuckles, and oh, don’t stop, please don’t stop-

“Uh,” James says, “uh, don’t you worry, honey, I’m lookin’ enough for both of us.”

And Steve-

Steve shivers, he can’t help it. Pet names are easy, he uses them all the time - but James doesn’t. James compliments him all the time but doesn’t call him sugar or sweetheart or baby. There’s a confidence in it Steve didn’t know he wanted to hear, but it eases something in his chest.

James is young, but he’s _listening._ James is young but he’s _paying attention,_ he’s got his eye on the ball and Steve should have known he would but Steve was also trying not to get weird about everything so it’s kinda nice to hear it confirmed. James knows what he’s doing, at least as far as Steve’s concerned.

~

James has to trust - he _has_ to trust - that Steve will stop him if he needs to.

Steve isn’t looking at the mirror. Steve’s got his face tucked up against James’ neck, but he’s still got his hands down, he’s still got his legs spread, he’s still gasping and holding back big sounds to make little ones, his cock is wet to the base in places with precome, flushed with blood like his face and neck and chest and stomach, freckles spilling out across his shoulders.

“Uhn, pl-” he murmurs, but he doesn’t go any further, and James looks at the two of them in the mirror - this gorgeous Adonis of a man, this marble-sculpted figure, this paragon of strength and resolve, made pliant and desperate at his hands, body straining for release, kept under control by the singular desire to do as James has asked him to do.

“Look at these, huh?” James says. “Your-”

“No,” Steve says, strained, and James goes still as soon as he registers it. “Uh, don’t- Don’t-”

He’s stuttering, holding himself rigid.

“Hey,” James says, slows his hands, cranes his neck to better see Steve’s face. “Hey, hey,” but Steve keeps his eyes shut. “Steve?”

“Don’t stop, don’t _stop!_” Steve says in a rush. “God I’m so close, pl- ah-”

“Steve, are you okay?” James asks, because he doesn’t know how else to check in with Steve, but Steve arches his back more, his hips shift in a rhythm that’s blatant though he barely moves at all.

“Just- _uhn,”_ Steve answers, “don’t call…” but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

James isn’t an idiot, he can follow a straight line when it points at something obvious, thanks - Steve’s gotten a lot better at accepting impromptu blowjobs and whatnot, a lot better at accepting affection and allowing favors without necessarily needing them returned, but it only takes James a second or two to understand that the couple of times he’s talked about how Steve looks so far - or, more accurately, how certain parts of his _body_ look - Steve’s turned his head away, shut his eyes. Or straight up objected.

“I won’t,” James says, because words float up out his memory at him.

_“Big me just avoids mirror eye-contact.”_

Holy shit, James thinks. Steve never batted an eyelid when James wanted to wear a shirt at the pool. Steve was always staring straight at _James_ when they did that interrogation thing in the tower. Months ago, in the middle of a roleplay, as soon as James said ‘Can you not say my name?’ Steve just went right along with it.

“You’re so good for me,” James tells him, changing tack - if Steve doesn’t want to see himself, if Steve doesn’t want to hear about what he looks like, if Steve doesn’t want to think about his own body when he can just feel instead, James can understand that. “You’re _so good_ for me,” because James loves being encouraged, and he knows it works on Steve, too, “done everything I asked for, let me make you feel good, ah?”

“Please,” Steve says, like defeat, a breath as he pushes his face into James’ neck, as his hands lift and settle, his fingers curl and uncurl.

“It’s okay,” James says. “I wouldn’t stop before you’re done, I wouldn’t leave you that way, you just keep your eyes closed, huh?”

And Steve goes quiet, and James goes quiet too, lets him feel without thinking, lets him be where he is without reminding him he’s not alone. It’s not even thirty seconds later that he makes a soft, strained little noise, like trying to hold your breath only to realize you can’t, and then…

Does he?

Yeah, he does, there he goes, he comes,

“There you are,” James says, watching in the mirror as Steve’s dick jumps, as it jumps again.

His hips kick up once, a second time, and then the evidence of his orgasm bubbles up at the tip and drools down the length of his dick, balls so tight James can barely see the swell of them at the base of Steve’s cock. Like when he came in his sleep, his dick sways and jumps and he comes without a hand on it, thighs shaking - it’s fascinating. James wants to watch him like this forever, wonders how many other ways he can make Steve come without anything but a related touch. 

Steve groans at him, shakes his head minutely. 

“That’s it, there you go,” James continues, “there you go,” ‘cause Steve’s still going, Steve’s body’s still drawing it out maybe ‘cause of how long it took to get there, maybe ‘cause of how much it had to build up to it, but Steve shakes his head more.

“Fuck,” he bites out, and then his hips roll upward, his hands curl into fists. “Can you…ah, fuckin’, _please_-”

And James does because he has what he wanted, he’s seen what he wanted to see - he wraps his fingers around Steve’s dick and strokes, Steve’s come slicking his fist, and Steve’s whole body shifts, Steve’s whole expression changes, Steve pretty much _levitates off the seat,_ slamming one hand down on the arm of the chair, searching for James’ with the other as he makes a really sweet, quiet little keening noise, arching his back away from James even as his head slams back against the top of James’ shoulder. It almost hurts James’ shoulder it’s so fast, but Steve doesn’t look like he even feels it, everything about him suddenly straining into James’ grip, using James for leverage or, as that one hand on the arm of the chair moves, holding on for dear life apparently.

Steve makes a series of harsh, blustery consonants, and then draws a huge breath, and then moans loud enough for it to fill the whole conversion, face screwed up, eyes shut tight. 

It’s a long, drawn-out _“ahhn!”_ noise and James kisses his throat, his shoulder, finds Steve’s searching other hand with his own and squeezes, and Steve makes a few more pretty noises that James will be dreaming about for like ever, and then shakes his head, muscles tensing, spine straightening. It’s too much, James knows that. 

Ordinarily he’d push, but he doesn’t this time, and he lets go slowly, eases his fingers away from flesh that, by now, really has to sting, and just presses Steve’s dick to his stomach with the flat of his hand, holding it there where Steve turns his head for a kiss, breathing with him when he opens his mouth under James’.

He makes little noises in the back of his throat, and James can feel his back moving as his chest heaves, skin shifting against the fabric of James’ shirt.

James risks a glance in the mirror - Steve’s nipples are red, the skin around them pink. It’s strange to see them like that - they don’t get like that by themselves. It looks like it ought to be uncomfortable at the very least but, when James strokes his hand upward, off Steve’s cock and up over his abs and up onto his chest, Steve just settles against him with a wince that James feels more than sees, and subsides back into a semi-stillness. He’s shaking, James can feel that. A tremor deep in overworked muscles as he sinks into James’ arms.

They need to talk. They’ve needed to talk for a while, although James is a little clearer on how to start now than he was the last time there was a problem like this. But he can give Steve the time to wind down, that’s no hardship - Steve whose body is flushed, and whose breaths come fast and hard, and whose eyes are still closed with his face pressed to James’ neck.


	3. Chapter 3

“You okay?” James says softly, hands stroking what he hopes is soothing touches on Steve’s stomach.

He avoids Steve’s chest - his nipples will be sore and the easiest way to not aggravate them is to not touch. They didn’t even need the vibrator, or the clamps. But he strokes his hands over Steve’s abs, the curve of his lower stomach, smooths his pubic hair because it’s something to do with his hands. Steve’s hands are open on James’ thighs, he’s settled against James like this is nothing more than a cuddle, but they’re both aware that’s not true.

“Steve?” he says.

Steve wets his lips. 

"Yeah," he says, but he says it like 'I know,' not like 'what's up.'

James waits for him to speak again, unsure of how to prompt him.

“I think,” he says. “I have a problem. But I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

James. 

Doesn’t know what to do with that.

But they’re clearly not getting anywhere if they don’t communicate and Steve’s made the effort.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” James says, and Steve nods.

“I know,” Steve says, but James can hear the frustration in it, the concern, the weariness. 

The wheels in Steve’s head are turning and that’s just as well because there’s a lot to think about.

“We gotta talk,” James says. “At some point.”

“We do,” Steve says. “I need to work up to it though. How ‘bout that blow job first?”

“Steve,” James says, exasperated, but Steve sits forward, turns at the waist so that he’s half curled up, so that he can plant his hands and look at James.

“I know,” he says. “I know. But lemme…” His gaze slides off to the side for a moment. “It’s an issue I have from growin’ up when I did.” He says. “Not anything you did, not something we can fix fast. We’ll talk about it after, I promise.” He looks at James intently."I promise.”

James takes a deep breath and sighs through his nose, and Steve leans forward, tilts his head.

He wants a kiss, a proper one, face to face, and so James bends forward and gives him one, mindful of his oily hands on the furniture.

When they break away, James knows he’s going to let Steve just from the heat in Steve’s gaze. He’s never going to be able to resist a look like that.

“Come on,” Steve says, lifting one hand to brush the backs of his fingers against James’ cheek. “Lemme make _you_ feel good,” and that at least implies that what they were just doing was something he liked.

Steve kisses him again, a third time, and then his fingers are working on James’ fly.

“Promise,” James gasps, breaking away to do so. “Promise me you’re okay.”

Steve searches his face for a moment, and the corner of his mouth turns up.

“I promise,” he says, “I’m okay.”

So James nods, and Steve kisses him again.

Something else James is going to remember for a very long time is how they look in the mirror when Steve does this for him - James fully clothed and stretched out in a huge, soft chair, with Steve completely naked and all but on his stomach in front of him, head bobbing between his legs, like every sex-slave fantasy James has ever had. 

James forgets himself and puts his oily hands in Steve’s hair instead. 

It’s not great practice to do this, he knows. To keep playing at something when there’s an elephant in the room. But it would seem that, at least doing this, Steve doesn’t seem concerned at all.

***

Having curled his arms around James’ waist like an embrace to blow him, barely higher than he would be were lying flat, he pushes himself up on his hands when he’s done, and doesn’t come in for a kiss. James grabs him before he can leave, lifts his head as a way to beckon him back, and Steve’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Oh,” he says, soft, and then he kisses James.

“You didn’t wanna kiss?” James murmurs, and Steve rolls one shoulder in a shrug.

“Just blew you, wasn’t sure you’d want a kiss.”

James nods in understanding, but he’s really thinking about how unusual that is. Steve knows James doesn’t care about that. But then he doesn’t blame Steve for being overly cautious either.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Steve tells him, turning towards James (and away from the mirror) to stand.

His tags are still down his back.

“Uh,” James says, and he glances up at the balcony.

“Just need ten minutes or so to myself,” Steve continues, which answers James’ next question. “Okay?”

And James frowns up at him.

“Okay.”

“You need anything before I go? You doing okay?”

“I,” James says, but then he shakes his head. “Wait but so why is this different than any other time you need aftercare?” James says. “Like I get it, okay, we’ll talk in a little bit, but you’re not supposed to just walk away on something like this. You know? Why is me not helping a good thing?”

“Because that was overwhelming and I need time by myself,” Steve answers without hesitation, one hand out to point at the couch. “Sometimes I feel like everything’s happened all at once and I need something to ground me after, sometimes I’m out of breath and I wanna lie still. But right now I’ve had a lot of input and a lot to think about and I want to take ten minutes to get clean and for this-” he lifts one hand and gestures at his nipples, which are still swollen, the skin around them still red, “-to calm down before I get dressed. I’m really- This is probably gonna sound dumb but I’m really proud of you for persisting, for trying to take care of me. And I can’t stop you worrying that I’m not telling the truth, but the truth right now is that my nerves are making a lot of noise and my skin is very awake and all the sounds in here are very big, so I’m going to go sit in a warm, humid room for five minutes, shower for five minutes after that, and get dressed once I can put fabric on. Okay? Then I’ll come downstairs and we’ll talk - I’m not putting this off forever, I just need ten minutes, you can come check on me if I’m not back by then. A’right?”

James stares at him, at a loss for how to continue. That doesn’t sound like an enjoyable afternoon, that sounds like recovery after something awful - how badly has he fucked this up? He’s half expecting Steve to kick him out.

“Can I come sit on the bed?” he says, and Steve looks up at the balcony.

“How about you sit in the upstairs living room, and I’ll keep the door open. Compromise?”

James chews his lip for a second.

“How bad is this?” he says, and he knows his voice is small. 

Steve shakes his head.

“It’s not bad, honey, it’s really not, I just need _space_ for ten. Okay? Follow me up when I go in the bathroom, sing out if you’re really worried, and I’ll talk to you about it in ten minutes. Okay?” and he leans down, brushes a kiss over James’ lips and then shivers, winces a little. “Yeah, okay, I gotta go, I need to go.”

James nods, and watches Steve walk over to the stairs and climb them. He doesn’t run, it’s not even really a power walk, but he goes faster than usual. James watches him turn at the top of the stairs, watches what he can see of Steve that’s visible over the rail, and then Steve goes into the bathroom, and James heaves a sigh through his nose. Then he gets up and follows Steve up the stairs to go wait for him.

After three minutes, Steve says,

“Hey, James?” and James startles, gets up and jogs over to the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” he says. “Are you okay?”

“You wanna come in here and sit inside?” Steve answers. “Feel like you might be panicking a little.”

And James does as Steve says - ducks inside, takes a minute to look at Steve where he’s sitting against the opposite wall than the showerhead while the room warms up, and then sits down on the lid of the toilet.

“Okay?” he says, and Steve shuts his eyes, arms out and resting on his knees.

“Shhh,” he says softly, not an admonishment.

James…feels a little admonished anyway.

~

True to his word, Steve takes a shower around five minutes after he goes into the bathroom. He’s silent about it, and James tries not to watch him because he’s pretty sure watching him isn’t the best call when Steve didn’t even want him in the room to start with. Steve doesn’t scrub, he just rinses, avoiding his chest altogether, though he washes his abdomen and his genitals fairly perfunctorily. He’s just getting clean, there’s nothing indulgent about it, and James is just feeling like he’s broken something irreparably when Steve says, 

“I can see you gettin’ anxious, baby, breathe. I’m figurin’ it out and none of it’s you, don’t fret.”

“We’re okay?” James asks in response, and Steve looks at him for a long few seconds.

Then Steve walks out of the shower without getting rid of the suds, comes all the way over to James and holds James’ chin in his hand, tilting his head up to kiss him.

“We’re fine,” he says. “I got sore nipples and hundred year-old baggage. If you’re alright stayin’, ain’t nowhere else I wantcha. Yeah?”

James nods, probably too quickly.

“Okay,” he says, and Steve shakes his head, searches James’ face again. 

“What do you need?” he says, but James closes his eyes.

“Just,” he says. “We’re okay?”

“Like the other side of the pillow,” Steve says, and James laughs without meaning to.

Then he looks up at Steve again, wet-naked Steve, post-sex-game Steve, the-dude-he-shares-a-home-with Steve.

“Okay,” he says. “I love you.”

“Mm, I love you too,” Steve answers. “I’m gonna rinse off, you pick me out a button-down and a sweater, huh?”

James feels his eyebrows go up but he nods, and Steve kisses his forehead before he goes back to the shower.

“Okay,” James says. 

That he can do.

~

James watches from his side of the bed as Steve emerges toweling his hair, and dries off enough to dress. He’s already left pants on the bed so James picked a white check shirt and a blue v-neck sweater, because the temperature’s warm in here but those things are brushed cotton and fleece-lined, and are comfortable. He picked a pair of plain black socks and a pair of the jersey boxers Steve wears on missions, too, so he knows they’re comfortable.

Steve dresses with an ease he didn’t have fifteen minutes ago, unconcerned by his nakedness or James’ presence - underwear, socks, pants, shirt, sweater, although he dons his shirt and sweater gingerly, and tugs the tags out so they rest on the outside of his clothes. Then he comes over to the bed to stand next to James. He threads his hand through the hair on James’ head - he can still get his fingers between the strands even with it in a bun like this - and cups the back of James’ skull with his palm before easing him sideways, bringing James’ temple against his hip.

It’s a powerful gesture, for sure, makes James aware of how big Steve’s hands are, makes James feel like Steve’s definitely in charge. That helps, actually and, when he looks up, Steve uses his other hand to smooth over James’ cheek.

“How’re you doin’?” he says, and James frowns.

“Me?” he says. “What? I’m fine, it’s you-”

“You’re not fine,” Steve says, voice low. “We’re a pair, huh? I didn’t mean to worry you, I just couldn’t get my thoughts in order. Still should’a done better by you, I’m sorry. Y’okay?”

James might have been running the show downstairs but Stone Top Rogers is settling him now, and it helps.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” James says, and he turns his head into Steve’s hip, breathes. 

“Well I’ll stop if you stop,” Steve answers wryly, and James huffs a laugh but doesn’t lift his head. “You alright for me to talk?”

And, oh, now? They’re, he really meant it, they’re going to talk about it now? James pulls back and looks up at him, and Steve keeps his hand on James’ neck but sits down next to him on the bed. Once they’re just about face to face, Steve kisses him, too.

"Okay?" he says, and then blinks, and then nods. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, it's okay to talk."

Steve gives him a small smile, moves his hand from the back of James’ head down over his shoulder, then down his arm, and then he takes James’ hand in his.

“Okay so first,” he says. “I enjoyed it. I want you to know that, know that I mean it. I had problems but, first and foremost, that was fun. It was just…a _lot._ Okay?”

James nods. 

“Okay,” he says, and then when Steve ducks his head a little, biting back a bigger smile, James laughs, rolls his eyes. “Okay, honestly. I get it. I enjoyed it too.”

“Good,” Steve says. “And now I’m going to make a joke to lighten the mood. Ready? It’s not you it’s me, ha ha-” James snorts, and Steve laughs too. “And I been trying to figure out how to put this so bear with me. Right? It felt good. But it felt…” Steve’s gaze slides sideways, and James tries not to tense but he must not manage, because Steve’s hand tightens in his a little. “It’s okay, baby. I liked it but that kind of- that kind of- that, what you did for me, is always felt... wrong.” If James could project exclamation points, he would. Wrong? What? “Not bad, not bad at all,” Steve hastens to say, and then he says, “but like I...shouldnt be enjoying it.” 

Which is…not what James expected _at all._

~

“What?” James says, and he looks bewildered.

Steve can’t really blame him - out of all the things they’ve talked about, this isn’t something that’s come up between them. Or, at least, it hasn't come up for Steve with James. If he thinks about it, it’s been a good few years either since it came up for Steve at all, really. Maybe it poked its head up indirectly once or twice... 

Okay, there’s probably more to this than he first thought.

“Yeah,” he says. “And. Okay so it's…I think I mostly know what it is.” He passes his hand over his eyes. “And it's really fuckin' dumb.”

James shakes his head, leans forward, immediately springing to his defense because he’s a sweetheart, 

“It's not dumb if that's how you feel-”

“Oh no, it's dumb,” Steve answers, because the more he thinks about it, the dumber it is in context. “I'm not blaming myself for feeling that way, don't worry, but it's dumb.”

James cocks his head, and Steve takes a few steadying breaths and thinks about how he wants to go about this.

It’s necessary to talk about it, obviously. He does want James to know, he doesn’t want to keep anything from James, but it’s never been easy to talk about how he feels. He’s well-practised at some of it by now, well aware of a good number of the issues that used to trip him up on a daily basis, but this one? 

“It's. In, so, okay, when…when I was younger, before the serum, I couldn't. Uh. Do this- that, what we- I liked that kind of, uh, stimulation, you know? But I couldn't…”

James frowns at him, not that Steve can blame him, Steve’s not exactly being the pinnacle of public speaking right now. But, and here’s the thing, it’s difficult to say. The _whole point_ is that this is difficult, actually, and he tries to think of a better way to say it than the phrase he’s pretty sure he’s going to need to use.

“I couldn’t…y’know…”

“You couldn't have a nipple orgasm?” James says, evidently getting his point, and Steve feels himself go bright red instantly.

It spreads fast, too - face, ears, throat, and he lets go of James’ hand so he can cover his face with both hands for a moment as he laughs.

“Right,” he says, shaking his head. 

Yeah. Okay.

~

James waits for a few seconds while Steve collects himself again - he’s blushing pretty hard, and he leans back a little but, even though he keeps his eyes down, he does try to explain.

“And… so, okay,” he says, and then he takes another deep breath. “Buck and I shared a space long before we shared a be-” he waves a hand, “well we actually shared a bed sometimes too but, what I _mean_ is,” he looks at James, “we lived together before we were a couple. And you have, you know,” he wrinkles his nose, shakes his head, waves his hand again like he’s dismissing an idea as he looks away, “everybody has needs. There'd be times you walk in thinking somebody's sleeping and then they're, 'oh, okay, you're' you know, gettin' a little time in to yourself, so you grab what you wanted and leave or you back out or whatever.”

That’s not an experience James can say that he has. He’s never been caught jerking off - nearly, a couple of times, but not actually. And he’s fairly certain that if anybody walked in on him jerking off it wouldn’t just be a case of grabbing what they came in for and leaving. 

“And I don't know the difference but there feels like there is one,” Steve says. “You know? You jerk off under the covers 'cause you need to, everybody does that. But…touchin' myself _that_ way, that wasn't…that was…”

He stops talking, just kind of fades into silence and stares at the wall for a long couple of seconds. He’s clearly thinking about something, James can see it in the way his gaze turns distant. 

Then he curls in on himself, head down, shoulders hunched.

"I guess it probably just that old Catholic guilt, you know? Or the. Knowing I was. Ga-” he tilts his head, “well, I _thought_ I was gay, I turned out to be-” and then he looks at James, “but you get the- okay, so, it just. Felt. Unnecessary. One was a need, the other was wrong.”

James stares at him. James has, thankfully, never had to deal with any of that. His parents are open-minded, didn’t freak out too much when he said he wasn’t straight and never got shifty about facts-of-life questions. James never learned to hate himself, or his desires, and he’s starting to wonder how unique that makes him. 

“Don't ask me how I justified that - maybe cause I couldn't help when I got a hard-on, it'd just happen,” Steve’s saying, and James just stares at him. “But. Buck and I were two fellas, right? Neither of us ever called each other names, he never called me the 'woman.' And I know women aren't lesser but, back then, when a man called a man a woman, lesser's what he meant by it. Some men anyway, not Bucky, so really I should'a known better but still-”

Steve’s rambling, going round in circles and second-guessing himself and James can hear the youth in it, can hear the inexperience and the rawness of it. Usually confident and quiet and linear in his explanations, Steve’s halfway caught up in memories while he tries to tell James what went on this afternoon. It’s like he’s back at the root of the problem, twenty years younger because that’s where he was when it happened.

James is swept by a very intense love for him in that particular moment, while Steve ‘um’s and ‘ah’s and tries to bare his soul even though, quiet clearly, he feels particularly awkward. 

“-in that context, when we were gettin' it, if he'd called me a pansy or a fairy or anything I…” and then he sits back, turns his head and looks around the room and then down at his hands where he’s twisting his fingers in his lap. “I don't know what I would'a done.”

James kind of understands. He hasn’t been through it himself, of course, but he can hear what Steve is telling him, and he’s listened to what Steve’s told him before. He’s not surprised that Steve would have been crushed if Bucky Barnes hadn’t been accepting of him. Neither is he surprised that Bucky Barnes accepted all of Steve wholeheartedly.

“But he never did,” Steve says, and his voice is softer now, a little more distant. “He didn't call me the wife or the catcher or anything. We used to switch but he was bigger'n me and I hated the idea of him seeing me that way, but he never did. He never saw me as less for being the way I was.”

James watches Steve. Steve looks halfway between fond and sad, as he often does when he talks about Bucky Barnes.

“He was that way too,” James says, not that he thinks Steve forgot.

He sometimes thinks, though, that Steve makes exceptions for others, and is immediately accepting of others, where he seems almost incapable of doing the same thing for his own traits.

But Steve smiles a little, huffs a laugh through his nose.

“Honey, I never said I was rational about it,” he says. “And he used to sweet-talk me, you know? The legs on you, look at that smile, eyes like the sky, all’a that, but once-” and here he looks straight at James, all the lightness in his expression fading, “_once,_ he called 'em tits, and he was trying to get me hot but I-” Steve shakes his head. Then he looks down again. “I nearly punched him in the face.”

There follows a very long silence. James isn’t sure if it’s because Steve’s remembering that particular occasion, or if he’s just sad at the prospect of having wanted to punch Bucky Barnes in the face, but it takes him a long time to work up to talking again.

Eventually, James drops his hand to the bed, and then sort of…inches it closer to Steve until he can run his fingers over Steve’s knee. 

“My problem is it felt- it feels-” Steve says, and then he sighs. “Okay, it. Feels. Like an unnecessary indulgence, and it feels like it makes me less, and I feel like I look stupid. You know? All of those - if Buck walked in and I was jerkin' off, fair enough, my mistake, leave you to it, but if I was doin' _that…_” He shakes his head, looks at James and then looks out around the room again. “I'd'a never lived it down.”

James feels himself frown at what sounds like the kind of implication he’d never have called - surely Steve can’t mean what it sounds like.

“He'd've held it over you?” he says, and Steve sits up straight, mouth dropping open as he shakes his head.

“God no,” he says. “But I never would have got over it. So. There. It feels wrong cause I feel less for wanting it.”

James holds on just a second, trying to make sure that Steve’s definitely said his piece before he makes sure he’s heard correctly.

“You're…” he says, “ashamed of wanting your nipples played with…” Steve winces, “cause you don't feel you _deserve_ it?”

“Apparently so,” Steve says, blinking rapidly, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck. “Apparently. Yeah, it's-” he nods, draws a hissing breath, “yeah. But it's not you. Okay? And I liked it, I don't mind you seein', just…”

James nods. He gets it actually, yeah.

“Big open space feels like somebody might catch you, mirror makes it feel like somebody's watching.”

“Uh,” Steve says. “Yeah, that. Yep. Also, just as an addendum, I don't like mirrors, feels vain.”

“That's pretty much what _I_ said!” James half squawks, and Steve laughs.

“I said it ain't rational!” he says, but then he sobers again, just a little. “And. I think that also…is why. With money. Why I don't want to keep it, you know? Why I'd rather spend it on you or give it away. What've…I really done to. Earn all that?”

James shakes his head in surprise - seriously?

“Uh, besides save the world?!” he says.

Steve holds out a hand.

“I'm aware of the going rate for emergency SRUs,” he says, and then he takes both of James’ hands in his own hands, leans a little closer though he drops his gaze again. “I'm saying it's hard to go from being someone who had maybe two meals a day at the best of times, all boiled, to someone who woke up a millionaire just because he slept long enough for the backpay to accrue.” _Then_ he looks at James. “I know the reality of it. But I'm trusting you with how it feels on the inside.” Then he looks aside and winces again. “And I will need to talk to my therapist about it, I think, some of this didn't even occur to me.”

“Yeah well,” James says because, really, this can’t have been easy and, when it comes down to it, there’s only one thing that really matters. “Love you.”

Steve looks at him, half a smile, gaze warm, and the corner of his mouth twists.

“Yeah,” he says. “I love you, too.”

And James draws a deep breath and considers saying what occurred to him all the way back when Steve was ‘interrogating’ him at the tower.

“So,” he says. “We can work on some of the stuff. If you want.”

“Mm,” Steve says.

“And…” James isn’t sure how to put it. “The money thing I. Understand that.”

“Yeah, I’ll work on that too, I know.”

James tilts his head from side to side - that’s not what he meant but he won’t discourage it. 

“Yeah but,” he says. “You know you feel like it’s vain when you see yourself like that?”

Steve narrows his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well,” James answers. “You. Wanna try it with a blindfold instead?”

And, slowly Steve’s eyes un-narrow, his brow smooths out. Obviously another time when it’s occurred to him for everyone except himself. James doesn’t love him any less, this doesn’t change anything. But he’s starting to see how deep some of Steve’s scars run. Steve breathes in slowly through his nose, and then glances aside as he thinks about it.

“Could work,” he says. “Maybe. Not now.”

“No,” James says. 

“And maybe not…” Steve lifts a hand, gestures at his chest.

“Of course,” James answers - not twice in one day, just a handjob, maybe, and he makes the universal jerkoff gesture to make his point, _one, two_.

“But I,” Steve says as he nods, and he puffs up as he takes a breath, obviously preparing himself mentally. “I liked it. I did. I liked it a lot.”

James nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Good.”

And Steve stares at him for a few moments longer, which means James gets to look at Steve for a few moments longer. 

“I’m gonna make food,” Steve says, “because this has been a lot, and talking about it is not easy, and I don’t want to talk about it any more. Okay?”

James scoots forward on the bed and puts his hands on Steve’s face to pull him down for a kiss.

“Thank you,” he says, “for telling me.”

Steve nods and looks pained although he’s smiling.

“Yeah, well, I’ll work on it. Thanks for listening, let’s go make food?”

James laughs and holds out a hand.

“After you,” he says. 

Steve gets up, tucks his tags (and James’ ring) back into his shirt, and pulls the hem of his sweater down where it’s ridden up. He holds an elbow out for James to link their arms, and James takes it.

Why wouldn’t he?

***

They make food, they spend some time just being close to one another. And then, in the evening, they try a blindfold.

Turns out a blindfold? Works _really well._

**Author's Note:**

> James’s plants are named for the following:  
Carrie Fisher, Jeri Ryan, Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly, Jack O’Neill from Stargate SG-1, Ethan and John from <del>super</del>**human**, Jodie Whittaker, Mulder and Scully from the X-Files, Radar from M*A*S*H, Scott Bakula, Dean Stockwell, and Dr Emmet “Doc” Brown and Marty McFly from Back to the Future. 
> 
> The books Steve shows James, when they’re discussing what goes on the bookshelf, are:  
-_SOE Syllabus: Lessons in Ungentlemanly Warfare World War II (Secret History Files)_ with foreword by Denis Rigden, (which I recommend if you’re into WWII spies. Peggy would have used this kind of training, and it would have been useful to the Howlies, too)  
-_ ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything,’_ by Bill Bryson  
-_’Never Surrender: A Soldier’s Journey to the Crossroads of Faith and Freedom’_ by Lieutenant General William G. Boykin. (_Never Surrender_ is on Steve’s bookcase in his apartment in Winter Soldier, which is visible as he climbs through the window after ‘Kate’ warns him his stereo’s on) 
> 
> -**’My Buddy: World War II Laid Bare’** \- Hanson, Bowers, Stokes. The description for this particular book of photographs begins, _Every harrowing day for a serviceman during World War II was potentially his last. To help bolster troops against the horrors of combat, commanders encouraged them to form tight "buddy" relationships for emotional support. Many war buddies, together every moment, and depending on each other to survive, formed intimate friendships. When they weren't fighting side by side, they relaxed together, discharging tension in boisterous - sometimes naked - play. The full extent of nude horseplay among men during World War II can't be known, as cameras were rare and film hard to process, but some men did document this unprecedented male bonding in small, anonymous photos mostly kept hidden away until their deaths._ I felt this would appeal to Steve for a few different, but obvious, reasons. And, okay, I liked the “your buddy” MCU tie-in, what can I say?
> 
> If the idea of _’My Buddy_ is appealing, also consider _’Men of World War II: Fighting Men at Ease,’_ by Evan Bachner, described as a book of ‘disarmingly winsome and playful pictures of sailors and soldiers at leisure, displaying an innocent affection for each other that is practically unthinkable today. This was a time when men had no reservations about showing their devotion to their comrades through physical contact, and the included photographs are truly snapshots of a lost era.’


End file.
